


Undercover

by celestiana (colourwhirled)



Category: Cardcaptor Sakura
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Feels, Drama, F/M, Lemon, Organized Crime, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-09-28
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 84,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourwhirled/pseuds/celestiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brilliant spy, Sakura has eyes out for herself only. But this might change when she finds herself working with fellow agent Li. Because he's determined to reenter her life and she can't keep resisting him. [au, rated for language, violence, and sexual content]</p><p>[[originally posted on fanfiction.net from 2004-2013; x-posting here for archival]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: CCS & all its characters are property of CLAMP, I am a nobody who needs better hobbies.
> 
> NOTES: this was originally published on ff.net in 2004, and then revamped circa 2007 onward.

_**prologue** _

* * *

The sound of water dripping from the ceiling echoed across the dank and dimly lit room. The air was damp and chilly, with mould gathered in the corners. A man shivered as he walked into the chamber – more appropriately, a subterranean cavern, unsuited for occupants other than rodents. His breath swirled in clouds before him as he squinted around him nervously, looking for other signs of life. A rat skittered by his foot. He let out a small yelp and cursed softly.

“Do you have it?”

The cold voice resonated across the room. The man froze, eyes roving around the room, trying to locate the speaker.

“Where are you?” he muttered, taking a step forward.

He let out a small shriek. A tall spectral figure had materialized not two inches in front him, its harsh yellow eyes glowing in the shadows.

“I am here,” the cold voice continued. “Do you have what I asked for?”

The man took a step back, trying to calm himself. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, and held out a tattered piece of paper, folded once over.

“H – Here it is,” he ventured shakily.

A claw-like hand snatched the paper out of the man’s hand. The tall figure, still hidden in the shadows, closed its eyes.

The man cleared his throat tentatively.

“Er – sir –” he managed in a hoarse voice, “–you said something about a reward?”

The figure nodded slowly.

“I did,” it said slowly. “Tell me, how much did you see?”

“Not mu–” the man started and then stopped. His eyes widened in horror before he turned on his heel and raced out of the room, as fast as he could.

Eyes still closed, the figure sighed deeply.

“Stop him,” it said heartlessly. A moment later, there was the sound of gunfire, and the sound of the man’s footfalls and ragged breathing stopped. Somewhere outside the room, a body dropped to the ground with a sickening thud.

The figure opened its eyes.

“Clean it up,” it ordered. “I want no trace of it to be seen anywhere.”

Slowly, the long, tapering fingers unfolded the piece of paper. The harsh yellow eyes brightened maliciously as the contents of the page came into view. This was the original copy. There were lines connecting names, as he had suspected, but now confirmed to be in existence.

“I have taken care of most of you,” it breathed quietly. “But now – the rest of you will not be spared either.”

His eyes focused on the first new name, emblazoned in bold black lettering.

“ _I’ll start with you…”_  

* * *

 

That evening, somewhere far away from the underground chamber, a man entered the penthouse apartment of a luxe condominium in the heart of a metropolitan city.

“They know,” Xiao-Lang said grimly, to the other two men in the room. “He was attacked this afternoon. Fujitaka-san.”

Gravity descended upon the room.

“He will not survive,” one of the men said gravely.

“He might,” Xiao-Lang argued. “He is receiving utmost medical care from our doctors.”

“He will not survive,” the other man in the room repeated, more firmly. “For his own good. Convey the message to Nadeshiko. Tell her that Fujitaka-san is dead.”

Xiao-Lang Li’s lips compressed into a thin line.

“I’ll do it,” he said icily. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

He turned to leave the room. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, one of the men hailed him.

“And Li?” he called. “Pick up the child on the way.”

Xiao-Lang nodded, understanding. 

* * *

“They are after you and your child,” Xiao-Lang said to Nadeshiko in a low voice. “I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but–”

“Children,” Nadeshiko corrected, her face as white as the hospital bedsheets that she laid sprawled on. “Are you sure?”

“They already have your other child,” Xiao-Lang said, heavily. “Touya.”

Nadeshiko’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I was ordered to pick up the other one,” Xiao-Lang said. “Is it a boy, or a girl?”

“A girl,” Nadeshiko said, eyes shining. “She was born two days ago.”

She picked up the sleeping baby from the crib next to her and placed it into Xiao-Lang’s arms.

“She’s very pretty,” Xiao-Lang commented softly. “She’s the image of her father–”

Nadeshiko’s eyes looked pained.

“She’s strong,” she said softly.

“She will be,” Xiao-Lang stated rather reassuringly. “What’s her name?”

“Sakura,” Nadeshiko breathed, barely more than a whisper.

“It suits her,” Xiao-Lang said absently. “Nadeshiko, I hate to do this, but –”

Nadeshiko smiled softly even though her eyes were filled with pain.

“You’re going to take her from me, aren’t you?” she asked in a small voice. “Even though she’s all I have left?”

“If all goes as planned –” Xiao-Lang lowered his voice until it was hardly audible, “-she will not have to go very far. As long as they never find out that I took her…”

“Will she be safe with you?” Nadeshiko asked.

“Don’t you trust me?” Xiao-Lang asked. “I told you she wouldn’t go very far.”

Nadeshiko sighed.

“Take her, then,” she said, her voice shaking. “It is selfish of me to even consider keeping her–”

“Never say that,” Xiao-Lang said, scowling, as he laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “The youngest of my children isn't even five years old, and I would die before I let him disappear from my life. For a mother to give up her daughter, who’s barely two days old…I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

Nadeshiko’s large green eyes met Xiao-Lang’s lined amber ones.

“Do you promise?” she asked wistfully. “That I will see her again?”

“Long before the end,” Xiao-Lang assured her.

Nadeshiko nodded, closing her eyes.

“Then take her,” she whispered. “And thank you, Xiao-Lang. For everything.”

* * *

 

Barely ten minutes after Xiao-Lang had exited Nadeshiko’s room with Sakura in his arms, the sounds of gunfire could be heard across the hospital grounds. Within one hour, all entrances and exits of the hospital building were barred and guarded by hooded figures wielding guns. Inside the hospital itself, more of these menacing guerillas patrolled the hallways, poking their heads into rooms, occasionally removing a specific somebody from the room they were in.

The siege at the hospital lasted for three days, during which the police force battled with the besiegers to regain control of the hospital. On the dawn of the third day, before the last of the night had disappeared, the menacing hooded captors vanished, leaving no trace of who they were or from where they came. They left no dead either.

They did not leave alone, however. A painstaking search of the hospital grounds identified that the men had taken exactly one hundred people along with them. Names were printed out, posters and missing ads put up all over the city. Two agonizing weeks later, nine bodies were found randomly distributed about the city. These nine bodies were identified and returned to their grieving families, if they had any, and were promptly attended to by formal burial rites.

The remaining ninety-one victims were never found. Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, though neither the mysterious hooded men nor their hostages were ever seen again.

Nadeshiko Kinomoto had been one of the hundred taken captive. Her body was never found.

Meanwhile, two days after the hospital had been besieged, another body was found, in an abandoned alley on the other side of the city. The body belonged to an adult male, possibly in his early thirties, who had been shot to death by one sniper’s bullet, lodged cleanly in his brain. There had been a child in his arms when he was found. There was a gash on the back of her head, and it was probable that she had not been fed for two days, maybe even three. The infant was brought promptly to medical care, while the man was brought to a laboratory to be identified.

Within six hours, the dead man’s body disappeared as well. The police, losing interest, returned to their work on the siege of the hospital.

The infant recovered, to the astonishment of her doctors, sustaining no permanent damage from her ordeal at three days of age. But no one came to claim her and no one publicized a missing child. A dilemma presented itself when the baby girl with the cap of red curls recovered, because she could not remain in the hospital any longer. She couldn’t understand this as the doctors and nurses regarded her sadly, lying on her side, her wide green eyes observant and intelligent. She had no family, no shelter, nothing in this world to call her own. Her struggle for life had begun much too early. But she faced them determinedly, her gaze unwavering, and they knew she would be formidable. The next day, she was put up for adoption.

She was, and would be, a fighter to the last.

* * *

 


	2. Overworked

 

_**chapter i.** overworked_

* * *

The sand was white, and pouring warmth, heated by the glorious golden sunshine. The sun was a great orb of gold lazily suspended in the cornflower-blue sky, in which there was not a cloud in sight. Several brightly-colored beach towels were spread over the sand. Many teenage sunbathers sporting bikinis and swimming trunks lay on these, swathing on sunscreen and working up a golden tan. By the beach, the ocean rose and fell gently, in a flotsam and jetsam of shining turquoise. Children splashed about in the water, to many a mother's anxious call. Some more adventurous people drove in speedboats, or tried to surf in the small waves washing above shore. The surrounding air was filled with the sounds of voices shrieking in delight and laughter. All was happy, and all was well.

It was in such a scene that a teenage girl of about eighteen sat on her towel. Her long auburn hair was bleached a honey-amber shade by the long hours in the sun, and swept up in a knot at the base of her neck. Her emerald eyes were hidden behind suave black shades. She was dressed in a red bikini that showed off her perfect bust and flat stomach. Her long smooth legs were crossed and tanned a glowing buttery shade, as were her arms. On her right arm was a small tattoo, of a glittery pink cherry blossom, her favorite flower. On her wrist was an expensive-looking watch, which her friend's ebony eyes were currently fixed upon.

“Whatever you say, they do pay you well,” the ebony-eyed girl said somewhat jealously. “I’d never be able to afford something like that off _my_ salary.”

The redhead scoffed.

“Do you honestly think I could afford something like this on my own?” she snorted. “On loan from the company. To make sure all their employees are running by the same clock.”

Her friend raised an eyebrow.

“Well that’s something I’ve never heard of before,” she commented dryly, stretching herself on the towel. “I don’t even know what you do, but whatever it is, it must involve a lot of running and jumping.”

“What makes you say that?”

Her friend shrugged.

“You’re always in such good shape, Kari.”

The girl chuckled nervously.

“Come off it, Ria,” she laughed. “I’m either at work or at the gym. You know that.”

Ria rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” she muttered. “Anyway, I’m glad you could finally get the day off. I’m telling you, for the amount of work you do, you’re not getting paid enough. Whatever they’re paying you.”

The girl laughed again.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” she said, smiling. “One minute you’re telling me I get paid well. The next, I’m not?”

Before Ria could reply, an insistent mechanical beeping interrupted their conversation.

_Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep!_

The emerald-eyed girl glanced irately at her watch, which had suddenly started beeping. Its digital face was dimly flashing on and off. Her face paled, and then mottled. She was being contacted.

“What’s going on?” Ria asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Er…” She couldn’t think. Indignation flooded within her.

_Why am I being contacted?_ she thought crossly as she struggled to her feet. Ria’s ebony eyes followed her accusingly.

“You were right after all,” she forced herself to remain calm. “I think – uh – it’s time I checked my laptop. In the car. They told me I might get mailed around this time. I’m not sure if it’s an assignment or –”

“Oh, get lost,” Ria yawned. “But you owe me an ice cream and a piña colada the next time I see you.”

“Got it,” the girl nodded. She sprinted nimbly between beach towels and sunbathers, her eyes fixed on her watch, which was still beeping. She recognized that ring – it was no doubt a message from work. To make sure, she checked the tattoo of the glittery cherry blossom on her arm. The center of the flower was shining, like a lightbulb, flickering on and off. She inwardly seethed. What were they doing? Why was she being contacted on a day off?

Reaching the parking lot, the girl slipped into her car, pulling her bag out of the trunk. Climbing into her car, now sweltering hot, she opened the bag, and pulled out her laptop. Turning it on, she saw that she had indeed, received mail.

  1. _Contact HQ ASAP._



She let out an aggravated groan as she drew an earphone from her bag, and inserted it into the jack on her laptop. Sliding the phone into her ear, she pressed a small red button on the corner of her keyboard. A button not found on most conventional laptops.

There was a slight whirring sound before the earphone clicked.

“ _Good afternoon, Field Agent 1725872 Sakura Kinomoto. Age 18. 28 missions completed, 1 failed. Please confirm_ ," sounded a cool, mechanical female voice from the phone in her ear.

“That’s right,” Sakura muttered, pressing another button on the keyboard. A voice equalizer had appeared on the corner of the screen. When she spoke, it registered. “Field Agent 1725872 mad as hell, but here.”

“ _Voice patterns recognized_ ,” the cool female voice intoned.

“Good,” Sakura said, scowling. “Get someone on the line. I want to know what the hell is going on!”

“ _Contacting Field Commanders in area. Please wait_ ,” the voice replied.

"No problem, bitch," Sakura growled. "And thanks for ruining my day off!"

There were several moments of static playing in the earphone. When it cleared, a different voice sounded.

“ _Field Commander 3625878 to Agent 1725872. Can you hear me, Kinomoto?”_

"Loud and clear, Nakuru," Sakura snapped. "And tell me, why the hell did you page me on my day off?"

" _I'm really sorry about that_ ," came Nakuru's voice, apologetic. " _I promise you'll get full compensation for that, but there's a crisis at hand._ "

"Well spit it out!" Sakura spat crossly. "If you want to ruin my day, at least ruin it for a reason."

" _Kinomoto_ …" Nakuru said reproachfully, before she cleared her throat. " _I'm sending details to you_."

Within ten seconds, a mail alert had popped up onto her screen. Sakura opened the file.

"Mimi and Kai Miyamoto-Ishida," she read in barely more than a murmur. "Mimi Miyamoto – age 32, married to Lang Ishida for six years before his death last year. Kai Miyamoto-Ishida – age 7, the only son of Mimi Miyamoto and Lang Ishida."

“ _Those are your charges_ ,” Nakuru’s voice said. “ _They’re in your area, and you’re needed to keep an eye on them._ ”

“I’m no one’s bodyguard, Commander,” Sakura replied flatly. “Get someone else to do it.”

“ _You have a target_ ,” Nakuru continued, as though Sakura hadn’t spoken at all.

“I do?” Sakura asked, frowning. “Who?”

“ _It’s in your file_.”

Swearing beneath her breath, Sakura continued to read the file.

_Hayashi Takiyama – age 48. Served in the military until his disappearance in 1989. Alleged member of the Aconites. Definite connections with the mafia and Hiiro Hirigawaza. Suspected of murdering Lang Ishida._

“Takiyama is my target, then?” Sakura asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Nakuru replied. “ _He is in your area. Near the Serenity Beach. He just signed out a motorboat under the alias Takashi Hama, not five minutes ago._ ”

“I see,” Sakura muttered, storing the name in her memory. _Takashi Hama_. “And where are the Miyamoto-Ishidas?”

“ _They’re also out on the water_ ,” Nakuru informed her. “ _On a small speedboat._ Beachcomber _, it was called._ ”

“So what should I do?” Sakura said resignedly. “Go after my charges, or my target?”

“ _First, get your charges out of the water_ ,” Nakuru instructed. “ _Then, if possible, remove the target from the field. Permanently._ ”

“And what if the target gets to my charges before I do?” Sakura asked, rolling her eyes. “You haven’t given me a lot of warning here.”

“ _Your task still remains the same_ ,” Nakuru replied. “ _Do what you can for your charges, but make sure the target is removed._ ”

_Priority definitely on the target then_ , Sakura noted to herself.

Out loud she said, “Do I have any backup?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Nakuru answered, almost as though she had been expecting the question. “ _Field Agent 6345464. You’ll meet her on the dock. Fourth plank. The key word is ‘_ swimming’ _. And I suggest you turn your watch on field mode. Just in case we need to contact you, or vice versa. You can’t carry that laptop with you everywhere. Am I clear?_ ”

“Crystal,” Sakura grunted. “I’m on it, Commander. But you owe me big time after this.”

“ _Don’t worry_ ,” Nakuru replied. “ _You’ll be compensated for everything. And just to let you in on a little something – apart from that mess-up on your first mission, you’ve been very impressive. Your record speaks for itself. If you complete this mission successfully, you’ll be due in for a promotion._ ”

“Promotion?” Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Is this some new way of getting me to work harder for you than I already am?”

“ _I mean it_ ,” Nakuru said sincerely. “ _We need a new field commander. You’re the best we have right now, Kinomoto. Our number one._ ”

“Thanks,” Sakura muttered, rolling her eyes as she closed the equalizer on her laptop screen, and unplugged the earphone. _I just wish I could be treated like it once in a while_ , she thought to herself darkly as she shut down her laptop and stowed it into her bag. _Or at least get some respect from the Commanders._

She selected a tiny jack, which she plugged into a socket on the edge of her watch. A communications chip, functioning as a microphone, transmitter _and_ power source. Espionage had its perks, after all.

She switched her watch into field mode, and its screen immediately went blank. To conserve power.

Making sure her bag was hidden safely inside the car trunk, she broke into a run toward the dock. Several teenagers complained that she was stirring up the sand, but she didn't care. All she was grateful for was that Ria lay tanning on the other side of the beach, and she didn’t risk exposing herself to her newly acquired almost-friend.

Reaching the dock, Sakura made her way cautiously to the fourth plank. She looked around herself. There were a couple of old women in floral bathing suits and floppy straw hats. Nobody fit enough to be the field agent Nakuru had mentioned.

Some young children splashed happily in the shallows. One of them gurgled as he paddled somewhat further than he ought to have gone.

“Come back!” a woman called after him, presumably his mother. “You can’t swim very well!”

_Swim_ , Sakura thought. _Right. The key word._

Taking a deep breath, she muttered to herself, as naturally as she could.

“It’s a perfect day to go _swimming_.” She put the accent on the last word, as she had been instructed in field training school. If Field Agent 6345464 was anywhere within earshot, she would be able to identify her partner in no time.

True enough, the words had barely left Sakura’s mouth when, from behind her, another voice replied.

“I’d rather go boating. The water’s especially calm at this time of day.”

Sakura turned around slowly.

Standing in front of her now was a young woman, about in her mid-twenties. She had long straight black hair, a pair of reddish-chestnut eyes, and a slight tan. She was resplendent in a green string bikini.

“Let’s go rent one then,” Sakura said brightly. To anyone listening, it would seem as though they had been friends forever. No one would have guessed that they had only met at that instant, for the very first time in their lives.

Sakura walked side by side with her partner, who towered over her. Sakura was petite in size, and was dwarfed by her field partner.

“The name is Li Meiling,” her partner muttered under her breath. “But I'm working under the name Akina.”

“Kinomoto Sakura,” Sakura replied in barely a whisper. “Which is nowhere close to my alias. Kari.”

They walked slowly, deliberately. The rentals booth loomed before them.

Sakura felt her watch heating up.

“We’re being sent coordinates,” she said in an undertone, examining the watch face.

“That’s the target, moving there,” Meiling said, peeking at Sakura’s watch. “He’s moving pretty fast, compared to the charges.”

“This doesn’t look good,” Sakura commented, keeping her face straight, in case her expression attracted unwanted attention. “I propose we get ourselves a boat and get to the charges ASAP.”

“Before the target does,” Meiling added.

She winked.

“I’ll race you there!” she called in a loud voice, and she raced toward the rentals booth. Sakura followed in her wake.

They had almost reached the rentals booth when –

_Boom!_

Something _far_ offshore had exploded. Sakura could see the faint red light, and the cloud of black smoke somewhere out on the water.

“We need to get there, and fast,” she said into Meiling’s ear. “That’s fire out there. And I can see smoke too.”

To their dismay, chaos reigned supreme on the beach.

“Stand back!” an important-looking official standing in front of the rentals booth barked. He addressed long line of people waiting in front of the booth.

“One of our speedboats’ engines failed,” he informed the crowd. “And then combusted. The guarantee of safety in these vehicles is no longer guaranteed. By law, until each and every boat on Serenity Beach is examined professionally, all renting will be disallowed.”

“Shit,” Sakura muttered.

“Now what do we do?” Meiling asked, her eyes worried. “Each second we waste out here, our target gets closer to our charges! And we can’t rent any speedboats now. What do we do?”

“Go for a swim,” Sakura replied. “Before security starts blocking access to the water.”

Meiling nodded. They both casually stepped into the shallows. No one paid any attention to them. Once the water rose above their waists, they dove underwater and tore out to sea.

"What do you think happened?" Sakura gasped, as they paused for a moment to catch their breaths and take stock of their surroundings.

Meiling bit her lip as she treaded water. “I don't know. Maybe some sort of collision.”

Sakura’s eyes lit up. "Maybe you should check with Headquarters. Maybe they'll have some information."

"Maybe." Meiling examined her watch. "It’s five to one. You go on ahead. I'll catch you up once I get updated."

Sakura nodded. "Okay."

She took a deep breath and submerged herself back into the water, swimming quickly, cutting through the water effortlessly. She shivered. The water was so cold, despite the fact that the day was so warm!

The strong scent of gasoline stopped her in her progress. Sakura paused, treading water. Observing her surroundings, she could see pools of oil floating on the water. She coughed. It smelt strong.

Her eyes widened as she caught the glimpse of boat wreckage.

_Oh no…_ she thought to herself as she swam cautiously to the shattered pieces of hull and stern. There could be only one explanation to a wreck such as this. The boat’s engine must have exploded. Along with the gas tank. Anyone on the boat would have been blown to pieces.

Or so she thought. Until she saw them. One was haphazardly positioned over the boat’s hull, while the other was afloat upon a buoyant sheet of lightweight metal. A woman and her child.

Sakura's heart ached as she drew nearer to them. The woman was already dead. Her face was covered with blood, and her green eyes stared blankly in a death gaze. Sakura bowed her head. There was nothing to be done for her. She swam over to the boy’s side. His arm stuck out at an odd angle, and there was a giant gash on the side of his head.

But the cut was still bleeding.

_Is there a pulse still_? Sakura asked herself, placing two fingers on his neck, trying desperately to feel a beat…

"Yes!" she whispered, as she felt a tiny pulse underneath her fingers. The boy was still alive!

Sakura’s relief faded fast. The boy might still be alive, but for how long? She could not hope to bring him back to shore in time, even if she swam with all her strength. And of course, there was no really knowing the stability of the boy’s condition. One false move could cause enough trauma for the heart to simply stop beating. She’d seen it happen before, and it was never pretty.

His life was ebbing away fast. She needed some help.

_Where is Meiling?_ She asked herself, glancing at her watch. It was exactly one o’clock. It should not have taken five minutes for Meiling to contact Headquarters.

_Maybe she received a tip on our charges or our target_ , Sakura thought. _Maybe she’s been instructed to find Mimi and Kai Miyamoto-Ishida and escort them to shore. That means I really_ am _alone._

She turned to face the little boy, her mind churning fast.

_What do I do now?_ she wondered. _And who are these people anyway?_

A sudden splash broke her out of her reverie. She turned around to see the body of the woman topple off of the hull, and into the water, bobbing eerily like a realistic mannequin.

That was not what disturbed Sakura. What disturbed her was that the hull, freed of its burden, had turned over in the water. The name of the boat was clearly visible now.

_Beachcomber_.

Sakura swallowed, her mouth going dry as it all finally registered in her brain.

The boy was Kai Miyamoto-Ishida. And the woman was…

Sakura closed her eyes.

_Shit_ …

 

* * *

 


	3. Trapped

_**chapter ii.** trapped_

* * *

 

Sakura had seen better days. There were days when she was on top of her form, and on those days, no one could touch her. No one could outsmart her. No one could best her in any area. As a high-priority target and survivor of many a dangerous situation, perfection was not merely a vaguely defined goal or desire for her.

It was a philosophy.

A maxim by which she governed her actions, her decisions and even her thoughts. Everything else was secondary, but when it came to being on the field in action (which for her was more often than not), everything had to be flawless. Calculations. Details. From the tips of her fine hair to the soles of her shoes, everything had to be convincing. Because conviction was what lay in the ultimate deception. And deception was the one skill upon which Sakura based her considerable prowess. Because, being an upper agent in the most dangerous association of underworld espionage meant that there was no room for failure. And – apart from that damned first mission, which Sakura had unscrupulously erased from her memory, she had been unstoppable.

So all in all, it was fair to say that Sakura was beyond the point of simple aggravation upon discovering that her charges had been killed before she had reached them. Especially since the one responsible had got off without her knowledge.

But Sakura was far from breaking down in response to this particular hitch in her plans. Safe enough to conclude that this was not the best of days for her, it was also, by no means, the worst. Oh, Sakura had been through hell and back several times over by the time she joined the CLA...

Her ordeals had apparently begun when she was allegedly abducted from the hospital as a baby, not even a week old. From what she could remember of what had been told to her, she had been found wounded and dying. Miraculously enough, she had recovered without permanent incapacitation, only to be placed into the shelter of an orphanage. That was from where Sakura's conscious memories began. She couldn't remember a mother or a father or a brother. All she remembered was the noise, the screaming, the irritable rush of the matrons... They had been kind in their own way, but it was clear that those in the orphanage were not wanted. And Sakura grew into her first moments of consciousness feeling like the unwanted, meddling parasite that most of society viewed her as.

These feelings of self-disgust did not disappear when Sakura was adopted at a tender three years of age. Smaller, witter and much prettier than most of the other orphans, she soon found herself a new guardian (she refused to address this character as _Mother_ ) – a vivacious young woman residing in the nearby town of Kyoto. Whatever attachment young Sakura may have developed toward this attractive lady vanished instantly upon meeting her boyfriend, who lived with her. This man, in his mid-twenties perhaps, who had nothing better to do with his time than to leech off of his girlfriend's earnings, drink his worth away, and satisfy what cravings he had in his drunken stupour by beating the living daylights out of either Sakura or her guardian. Whoever was closer. And it was at the tender age of three when Sakura first learned what mental and physical torture felt like – the hard way. But as a stoic by nurture and a fighter by nature, Sakura also quickly learned to resist. By her sixth birthday, she knew how to ignore the dark bruises on her pale skin, the harsh drunken shoutings in her mind, the sight of her guardian being beaten to death with a baseball bat...

Social Services arrived before her bludgeoned guardian's boyfriend harmed her severely. In time, the bruises on her body faded and the scar tissue she had built inside herself had hardened her. A few months later, she was adopted again, this time by an older woman, stricter and most thankfully, single. However, it was after her dreadful ordeal with her previous foster family that Sakura learned to deal with something more lasting than physical and mental torture: fear. For Sakura was not placed into the care of a loving mother at all. Rather, (though she didn't know this until after she was rescued) this woman she assumed as her new guardian was in fact assigned to kill her. Having a trained agent of the CLA next door saved Sakura's life – she was rushed to the CLA's medical facilities before the poison could unleash its full damage and once again, she narrowly escaped with her life.

It was at this point the CLA decided to take matters into its own hands. Having identified Sakura as the daughter of the late Fujitaka and Nadeshiko Kinomoto, as well as a potential target of the Aconite mafia, the Grand Master of the Association issued instructions to have the girl put into the care of an experienced agent. They met her in the hospital and told her everything about herself: her real name, her entire family background, the fact that she was considered a high-priority target of a dangerous technological mafia...

What a thing to break to a little girl on her seventh birthday.

But once Sakura overcame her shock, things began to look brighter for her. She was adopted again, this time by a woman named Naomi Yamiyuki, who was both an experienced Associate and wonderful enough for Sakura to consider a mother. And for eight years, Sakura lived happily with Naomi – a youngish woman with calm sea-green eyes and a sad smile. But, when Sakura was fifteen years old, the CLA deemed it high time for her to start her own training. Before Sakura was seventeen years old, she had graduated from the CLA's field training school at the top of her class and had already bungled her first mission, jeopardizing her agent status...

The mere thought of that first mission brought Sakura back to reality with a sharp snap.

Her reputation had already been ruined once. She couldn't let it happen again. So what if her charges had been incapacitated? Her task still remained the same. Priority was on the target.

She had to find Hayashi Takiyama before he got away. And if her experience in field situations had taught her anything, the targets generally didn't leave until they were sure that they had accomplished their missions. And if Mimi and Kai were floating here among the wreckage of their boat, Sakura was willing to bet everything she owned that Hayashi had been the one to cause their boat to explode. How...she didn't have enough information to guess, but she knew he would be here soon, to make sure he had carried out his job properly.

_I'll contact headquarters_ , Sakura decided. _Priority or not, I need to get the boy out of here before Takiyama gets back. Once Kai's out of my way, I can take care of Takiyama myself._

Sakura pressed a small red button on her watch. A small matrix of dots and lines hovered on the watch face before a command appeared.

_Enter I.D._

Sakura obliged, punching in her code: 1725872 and then pressing ENTER.

The watch beeped softly, the word _Contacting_ now on the screen.

“ _Kinomoto_ ,” a voice greeted from the watch's speakerphone. A small voice equalizer was flickering on the watch face.

“I need backup,” Sakura said in a low voice. “I have no idea where Meiling is and the target has already reached my charges.”

“ _I see_.” Disapproval was evident in the speaker's voice. “ _We are feeding your coordinates to Retrieval. How many should they be prepared to take?_ ”

“Two,” Sakura said. “One charge is dead and the other is in need of serious medical attention. The target should be returning soon. I'll finish him myself.”

“ _I'll tell them to prepare to transport three_ ,” the speaker said. “ _And what about your partner?_ ”

“I don't know where she went,” Sakura said, her throat dry.

“ _Four, then_ ,” the speaker said. “ _Just in case. Retrieval will be there in two minutes_.”

“Thanks,” Sakura said, before her watch screen went blank.

Two minutes. It was a long time. All Sakura had to do was pray that Takiyama didn't show up before they got here. Although if he did, Sakura would have to be prepared to finish him off. She didn't have any weapons, but all she needed to do was get close enough to him. A quick twist of the neck was all she needed. Or, if worst came to worse, she'd have to get her hands around his throat. Although she hated strangling. She'd only done it twice before, and it was undoubtedly her least favourite way of killing -

Her ears picked up the drone of a motor approaching.

_That's probably him_ , Sakura thought grimly.

A black speedboat approached, its orienteer a middle-aged man with tousled brown hair and yellowish eyes.

Sakura dipped below the water, trying to reveal as little of herself as possible. But even this was a futile hope. In the midst of the blue water and grey boat wreckage, her hair stood out like a flag, bleached as it was by the sun.

The man hadn't seen her yet as he slowed his boat down, approaching the site of the wreckage,

“Is anyone alive?” he called.

Sakura did some quick calculating. If he thought they were dead, he would leave. That would destroy any chance she had left of completing her mission with some grace. But if he saw them, he would probably try to kill the boy. And then her, if he wanted secrecy. It all depended on how quickly Sakura could get her hands on him.

But one thing was clear: she couldn't let him get away.

She broke the surface of the water, coughing as water rushed into her mouth.

That in itself was enough to attract the man's attention.

“Over here!” she called, somewhat redundantly because the boat was already coming closer. “I need help!”

To her delight, the man had stopped his boat in front of her, and pulled her onto the boat. Together, they hoisted Kai's prone form onto the boat.

“Took a nasty blow to the head,” the man observed.

“Their boat blew up,” Sakura informed him, watching him carefully for signs of aggression. “I'm surprised he's still in one piece.”

“I see,” the man commented cryptically. It was neither an answer nor a question. Sakura decided that if she didn't take the offensive soon, both she and Kai would end up dead. Though she had never seen the man before, she knew he was her target. She could feel it inside herself somewhere. And her intuition had never let her down before.

She got to her feet, shifting her weight slightly so that she could move quicker. The man, as though anticipating an attack on his person, moved so he could use his superior height and weight to his advantage.

“You didn't see the boat explode then?” Sakura asked lightly enough, for all the increasing tension in the air.

The man cracked his knuckles loudly.

“I think you know the answer to that, Kinomoto,” he replied casually.

Sakura froze, wave upon wave of shock buffeting her.

_He knew her name._

_How?_

“How'd you do it?” Sakura asked, recovering quickly. If she had been identified, then this man was not alone. There was someone else involved, who knew her very well. Someone who had been watching her closely and knew her real name, though she had been living under a different alias every week since her seventeenth birthday.

“Do what?” Hayashi Takiyama asked, his lip curling as he crossed his arms across his chest. Authoritatively.

“Blow up their boat?” Sakura asked, her voice cold and pointedly steady. She had been in far worse situations than this.

“Oh, that.” Takiyama shrugged. “Planted a time bomb in the engine. Surprised the both of them weren't blown to bits. Blow me if they survived, though.”

“I'd rather not,” Sakura replied coldly.

Takiyama chuckled. It was a cold mirthless sound that sent shivers up Sakura's back.

“And by the way, I think you might recognize someone else I happened to pick up.”

He jerked his head amusedly, to indicate a prone figure that had been blocked from Sakura's view.

When she looked back on this moment, Sakura would curse herself for succumbing to her curiosity instead of taking the opportunity to kill her target. But fate played out as it did and Sakura found herself staring at an unconscious Meiling, slumped over the edge of the boat.

Sakura kept her face straight, knowing that her target was reading her expression carefully.

“Know her?” Takiyama asked. Sakura didn't have to see him in order to know that there was now a gun aiming in her direction. She had already known it was there, noting the telltale bulge in his pocket when he had hauled her on board. And she could sense it when he pulled it out of his pocket, as well as hear the click of the cartridge attaching to the bridge.

“I think you know the answer to that, Takiyama,” Sakura replied easily.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Sakura snapped around to face her target. He blew on the still-smoking gun. The rudder had been clean shot off, the fuel tank had ignited, and there was a hole in the boat floor.

“Try get yourself out of this one, Kinomoto,” he sneered. He gave her a mock salute before opening the throttle all the way, and breaking it off.

The boat sped forward, heading further away from the beach. The force knocked Sakura off her feet, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

She scrambled to her feet, only to see something fall into the water with a splash.

Takiyama had made his escape.

Sakura rushed to the side of the boat, but even as she did so, she realized the situation was hopeless. Takiyama was already too far away for her to catch. The fuel tank was on fire, and it was only a matter of time before the boat exploded. And she could not jump overboard. Not while Kai and Meiling were still there.

She was trapped.

* * *

 


	4. Angered

 

_**chapter iii.** angered_

* * *

Forcing herself to think, Sakura rushed over to Meiling, fingers gently brushing a fist-sized lump on the back of the girl's skull. Other than the blow to the head, Meiling seemed none worse for the wear. The roar of the engine loud enough to drown out all thought, Sakura set to work, trying to bring her partner around.

“Come on,” she muttered, pinching here and slapping there. “Up you get now, _up – you -_ ”

There was a crack and Meiling's red eyes snapped open.

“What the-?” she let out with a yell before recoiling, her hands cradling her head. “ _My head!_ ”

“Be glad that wasn't your life,” Sakura said shortly, pushing a few buttons on her wristwatch. She turned her back to Meiling and waited for her watch to connect with Headquarters.

The equalizer appeared on the watch face again.

“ _Patience, Kinomoto -_ ” it began, almost inaudible over the drone of the engine, but Sakura cut it off.

“Spare me your formalities!” she roared. “Red alert!”

“ _We have sent Retrieval your coordinates_ ,” the voice replied, if not somewhat unevenly.

“Two minutes,” Sakura informed them. “You have exactly two minutes to get to us before our boat explodes. And we're moving at about two hundred miles an hour, so if I were you, I'd keep updating!”

“ _We will be in contact with Retrieval shortly_ ,” the voice answered.

“Shortly had better mean _shortly_!” Sakura snapped. “Otherwise we'll all be dead, you hear me? _Dead_!”

She closed the equalizer on her watch and faced Meiling, who had composed herself steadily.

“We've got to get the charge,” she said, jerking her head to where the prone Kai lay sprawled on the ground. “And make sure there's no trauma to the brain. You pick him up, I'll watch the head.”

It was a tricky task to do in a roaring speedboat racing two hundred miles an hour on the choppy waves, but they easily managed to hoist the unconscious boy onto Meiling's shoulders. Sakura's eyes were half on the boy's head, and half on the flames, licking away at the fireproof gasoline container slowly but surely. She estimated that they had less than a minute before the flames ate through the plastic and ignited the fuel. Less than a minute. Could Retrieval make it in time?

“We may have to jump,” Sakura said in a low voice. “If Retrieval doesn't show up in another thirty seconds, we'll have to jump. There'll be no chance for the charge, but at least we'll be safe.”

Meiling nodded curtly.

Sakura resumed staring into the distance, squinting for any sign of movement or help...hearing over the roaring engine was useless, and the scent of burning plastic lingered in her nostrils sickeningly. It would be too late, she thought darkly, and then they would have to jump. She and Meiling could survive the impact – a few broken bones never hurt anyone before – but the boy wouldn't be able to survive the trauma. But it was a sacrifice she had to make – it was the cardinal rule for Agents like her. On the field, self-preservation came before all else, including scruples. Agents were absolutely forbidden to become emotionally attached to their charges, in case the event arose that the charge would have to be sacrificed. Yes, it was a cold, heartless life, but better than no life at all...

“I see it,” Sakura told Meiling, heart thumping as she pointed to a black speck in the sky, approaching them.

It was a helicopter, painted black and big enough to seat ten people. The hovercraft positioned itself directly over the speeding boat, and slowed down its speed to remain hovering directly over top of the speedboat. It was a mastery of mathematical precision.

Sakura calculated that they had around thirty seconds before the flames burned through the plastic gas container. She looked up, squinting at the helicopter hovering directly above their heads, about five hundred feet in the air.

The next thing she knew, someone clad in a black wetsuit had landed on the boat, clinging to a long rope harness.

“One at a time,” he shouted, his face masked by the skintight suit and large goggles.

Sakura motioned for Meiling to hand the unconscious boy over to the Retrieval agent. Within the blink of an eye, they disappeared from the boat, their harness being pulled into the aircraft. Within ten seconds, the Retrieval agent had deposited Kai inside the helicopter and had descended onto the boat again.

Meiling went next, clinging to the agent as they swiftly rose into the air, up, up, up...until they disappeared from Sakura's line of vision.

She turned her eyes to the flaming gas tank. The plastic was looking dangerously translucent. If she remained on this boat for another ten seconds -

But then she felt the boat shake as the Retrieval agent was lowered none too gently on the boat behind her. Strong arms grabbed her around the waist and Sakura clutched at the harness behind her head, eyes riveted on the surface of the boat as it grew smaller and smaller...they were rising higher and higher...

The prescribed ten seconds Sakura had allotted for the plastic container to hold ran out.

_Boom!_

The flames had ignited the fuel and a backdraft of colossal proportions ensued. Sakura gripped the harness tighter, knuckles turning white, as a wave of intense heat and pressure crashed over her and the Retrieval agent holding her. Mercifully, the wave of pressure did not reach the helicopter, and after blinking the dancing stars out of her eyes, Sakura felt a final tug on the harness as she and the agent were pulled into the cabin of the aircraft.

The hatch door slid shut, and Sakura deposited herself into one of the cabin seats, fanning herself. There were four large seats in this cabin, she noted. She was sitting in one, and Meiling graciously occupied another. The Retrieval agent in the wetsuit sat in a third, unpeeling his uncomfortable attire away from his body. The fourth seat remained empty.

“Where's the charge?” Sakura asked hoarsely, trying to find her voice.

The man removed his wetsuit and flung it into a corner of the cabin. He wiped the sweat out of his face and grimaced.

“Think that heat wave popped a few blisters,” he said, making a face. “Oh, the charge – the medics must have him in the medical wing – just at the back of the craft.”

“I think I'll go there,” Meiling said, getting up unsteadily. “They must have a remedy for this extra head I'm growing here.”

Clamping a hand on the swelling on the back of her head, she tottered through a small door into the medical wing.

“So, it's Kinomoto, eh?” the man grinned, pulling on a comfortable white polo shirt. “Heard a lot about you. That was a risky situation you got yourself into.”

Sakura didn't even blink as she stared him down.

“It wouldn't have been half as risky if you'd shown up sooner,” she told him coldly. “What took you so long?”

The man looked somewhat abashed, not expecting such a bitter comeback from a girl as timid-looking and young as she.

“We had to pick up a body,” he told her, his voice substantially less flippant. “One of your – er – the charges.”

“Oh, don't even bother sugarcoating,” Sakura sighed, leaning back in her seat. “I failed the mission, so my pride and reputation are already going to be getting a beating, aren't they?”

The man's eyes regarded her gravely over his spectacles.

“You don't like losing, do you?” he asked her, regarding her as though she was the most interesting individual he'd ever met before.

“Of course not!” Sakura snapped. “Who does?”

“You shouldn't lose your temper like that,” the man told her. “It's just asking to be set up for another failure.”

Sakura opened her mouth to retort, but then realized the man was right. She nodded curtly, swallowing her frustration that arose every time she thought of Takiyama's effortless manipulation of the situation. She had played right into his hands. Fallen for his scheme – hook, line and sinker. But that wasn't what angered her.

What made her angry was that he had known her name. Which meant he'd known everything about her before he had set sail on that blasted boat of his.

Which meant that no matter what she could have done, she still would have failed the mission anyway.

And that made her _mad_.

* * *

 

Not a word was spoken for the rest of the afternoon, as the helicopter journeyed steadily inland, away from the bright sunlight, sparkling waters and glowing white sands of the coastline. Instead, from what Sakura's peripheral vision could decipher from the tiny cabin window, the sky looked as gray and uninviting as the city that lay beneath it. Turbulent winds buffeted the craft up and down, making her feel like she wanted to be sick. All in all, it was one of the worst landings she'd ever suffered, and that included the time she'd landed a twelve-hundred foot free fall on her belly.

Just the mere thought of the colossal shock waves pounding through her body made Sakura wince, to this day. So, with a stoically indifferent demeanour and a slight clench of the jaw, she jumped off of the helicopter onto the helipad located on the summit of the highest building in the city. The blades of the chopper still rotated slowly, the generated wind possessing enough power to knock her off of her feet. Meiling disembarked soon after, and slowly, the crew of the helicopter followed.

There was the copilot, followed by the Retrieval agent and two medics. The medics were carrying a stretcher, on which a deathly pale Kai lay, barely clinging to life. They rushed him into the building. Another two medics exited the chopper, this time wheeling what looked like a large wheeled refrigerator. Sakura knew what it was: it was a portable cryogenics unit, used to freeze any dead bodies the CLA needed to investigate. Mimi Miyamoto-Ishida was in there, her entire form covered with freezing gel, her cells permeated with glucose administrations and her blood replaced with a preservative solution to withstand tissue damage.

They wheeled her by quickly, so that Sakura did not have to focus on her failure with as much intensity as usual.

Sakura and Meiling were to led to an elevator by the copilot, who pressed the ' _Down_ ' button for them. They waited in silence until the doors slid open and the two Agents stepped in.

The copilot looked at them seriously.

“You're to go to the penthouse,” he instructed them. “There's only one apartment on that floor, so you can't miss it.'

He pressed the ' _Penthouse_ ' button for them and stepped away as the gold-plated doors slid smoothly shut.

Sakura felt only the slightest twinge of apprehension as she took stock of the rich oaken walls, shining marble floor, burnished mirrors and intricately carved gold-leaf adorning the interior of the elevator. She was feeling light-headed and cold: light-headed because she hadn't eaten since breakfast that day, and cold because she was dressed in her beach attire, which included a two-piece swimsuit (which counted more as 'underwear' rather than clothes, anyway) and a thin gauzy robe they had given her on the hovercraft, which acted more as a cover-up than it did as an actual article of clothing... She glanced at her feet and wiggled her toes experimentally. They were still bare, and nearly frozen against the cold marble.

A bell chimed as the elevator doors slid open.

“ _Penthouse_ ,” a voice announced over the elaborate silver-filigree speakers. Sakura stepped out of the elevator, followed by a somewhat hesitant Meiling. The elevator doors closed behind them, leaving the atmosphere as dark and gloomy as ever.

They were standing in a hallway, with rich mahogany walls, several dimly lit chandeliers hanging off an elegantly tiered ceiling and deep red carpeted floors that reminded Sakura of a concert hall. The door that stood in front of them was large, also wooden, polished to a gleam. The place was scented with wealth, she thought, wrinkling her nose.

“Do you know why we're here?” Meiling whispered, her tan face oddly bleached.

Sakura didn't bother to reply, but approached the apartment door and knocked firmly. Twice.

Of course she knew why she was here. She'd been here once before, after her first mission. That first mission that had almost cost her Agent status. After that day, she'd sworn never to fail another mission again.

But she had.

And now she was back at Headquarters, for a consultation with her Field Commanders...

* * *

One might have expected the interior of the apartment to match its elegant, classical exterior. But this wasn't the base of the world's largest undercover policing society for nothing. The moment they walked into the foyer, they were jarred into the present century with the high-end modern décor and intricate technology present in the apartment.

It was gigantic. There was a sitting area near the back of the apartment, where three people already sat. Sakura recognized Field Commander Meiden Aralier sitting in the large armchair with his back to the large bay window that overlooked a stunning view of the city. Standing by this window was his brother, Field Commander Elden, who had his hands clasped behind his back and a small frown on his face. And seated on one of the many leather sofas was Field Commander Nakuru – the one who had assigned Sakura her task that morning. It was she who stood and approached Sakura and Meiling, albeit none too cordially.

“We're still waiting for the rest of the Commanders to show,” she said to them as greetings. “You can go to the kitchen and fix yourself something warm if you want.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked back to the sofa she had been sitting on previously.

“Good day to you too,” Sakura muttered under her breath, feeling indignation run wild through her veins, threatening to bring her into a frenzy.

“Want anything?” Meiling asked her under her breath.

Sakura shook her head and Meiling vanished from her side. Sakura didn't want anything right now...she didn't _need_ anything besides the fulfilment of her dire urge to scream and shout. She wanted to be disrespectful. She wanted to convey to her Commanders just _exactly_ what she thought of them. She wanted this mission stricken from her record because it was so unfair for this to hold weight because she hadn't been prepared...

Indignation from the Commanders' disdainful treatment coupled with the clear unfairness of her situation and the sheer frustration of being outwitted was driving Sakura mad. She could feel a giant headache coming on, she was cold and hungry and yet strangely numb all over... She wanted release, forgiveness, another chance, _that promotion..._

A voice spoke behind her, startling her out of her angst-ridden reverie.

“So we meet again, Ying Fa.”

That voice. Sakura ground her teeth together as the words registered in her ears. She knew that voice! _And_ the person to whom it belonged...it could only be him. Who else would have the audacity to address her so informally in CLA Headquarters? She spun around to face him, eyes blazing.

“That's _Kinomoto_ to you, Li,” she said sharply, thinking that this was the one thing that could have possibly made her day worse. Meeting _him_ again.

“ _Commander_ Li,” Syaoran said smoothly, examining Sakura's face closely for a reaction. “I got – promoted – since I saw you last.”

His lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk as he saw fire spark in Sakura's eyes. Oh, there would be fireworks, he thought to himself amusedly. Then again, he doubted whether anyone else in this world could have as much of an effect on her temper other than himself. And he used this power to his advantage. Driving her over the edge had been a hobby of his before, and now...when after such a long time, they finally met again – to be told that she had been bested (and that too by _him_ ) would simply drive her insane.

Sakura calmed herself, trying to play it cool, knowing that the one thing that would make Syaoran's day complete would be driving his old rival into a frenzy of revenge and then demoted to some inferior rank, probably made to cater to his every dark whim.

“Congratulations,” she said lightly, though her heart pounded with indignation and disappointment and rage and -

“Although I'm quite curious to know,” she continued, drawing her mind away from that _particular_ sensation tingling in her limbs, “just exactly how many people did you have to threaten or seduce before you got there?”

Standing over six feet in height and dressed in slacks and a white polo shirt undone at the top, Syaoran could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be. And as he stood there, towering over Sakura's small form, he could see right through her bluff. His chestnut hair was rumpled by the wind, just the way she liked it. Long hours outdoors had tanned him to a brilliant golden hue. His amber eyes, which she had once called _dazzling_ , fixed a smouldering gaze on hers.

“Well...” he said, crossing his arms over his chest (while watching her eyes follow them with satisfaction) and raking her up and down with his penetrating gaze, “I can think of at least _one_ at the moment.”

His smirk widened as he saw her blush. So what if she hadn't seen him in almost two years? She _still_ couldn't resist him. He chuckled, knowing the sound was sending tingles down Sakura's spine. He was a god...and he knew it.

Sakura regained control, her face beginning to mottle alarmingly. Most people would step away from her when she flew into one of her rages. But then again, Syaoran Li was blessed to not be among the ranks of _most people_.

“You -” Sakura started angrily, stepping forward abruptly so that they were inches apart. Aggression and hostility were clear in her body language. Sparks were dancing in her eyes.

Syaoran held his hands out in front of him disarmingly. His grin was replaced by his customary smirk.

“Temper, Kinomoto,” he said seriously. “Otherwise I may have to put you on probation.”

He could see the steam venting out from Sakura's ears as he said this and inwardly laughed. Who had the upper hand now? He winked at her and turned away just in time as Sakura let out a frustrated shriek.

Syaoran made his way to the couches, and seated himself beside Nakuru in high good homour. Who said power didn't have its perks?

* * *

Sakura wanted to scream as she stood there, fuming. How _could_ she let herself be so weak? How _could_ she -?

She was absolutely _disgusted_ with herself. For allowing herself to give into Li and his cheap charms so easily. Now that she knew better.

_Especially_ now that she knew better.

_Fool me once, shame on you_ , she thought to herself bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. _Fool me twice, shame on me._

And she was ashamed. Oh God, was she ever...

* * *

“You failed your mission,” Meiden said by way of starting the meeting.

Sakura held his pointed blue gaze. _Okay_ , she thought to herself resentfully. _Forget Meiling was even there. Blame it all on me, why don't you?_

“You let your target escape,” Meiden continued, his pale eyes boring into Sakura's.

“I believe it was just a bit more complicated than that, Commander,” Sakura replied dryly.

“Don't you pull any of your cheek, Kinomoto!” Meiden bellowed, flaring up at once. “There is a time and place for your immature antics and now is not one of them!”

Sakura sighed.

“Commander, let me get one thing straight here,” she said flatly. “I am going to speak frankly. And if that's tantamount to _immature antics_ , then so be it.”

“So did you or did you not let your target go?” Meiden repeated, his voice and tone accusing.

“I certainly did _not_ let him go!” Sakura bristled indignantly. “He escaped.”

“A likely story,” Meiden scoffed, crossing his arms about his chest. “I heard he came to you after killing your charges. What of that?”

“I heard it was my day off today,” Sakura challenged, looking at him squarely in the eyes. “What of _that_?”

“No excuses here!” Meiden roared. “You were given sufficient information as well as a partner. What more did you need?”

Sakura snorted.

“A _partner_?” she repeated sceptically. “Commander, maybe you should go reacquaint yourself with the details before you interrogate me further. Meiling was out cold during any time of _real_ action. I had to handle the entire situation myself. Besides, Takiyama, he was already informed about us. He knew everything -”

“Enough.”

Nakuru had stepped into the fray. She sat demurely next to Meiden ( _his little pet_ , Sakura thought disgustedly) and steepled her fingers together.

“You said Takiyama was already informed about you,” she said quietly. “How?”

“He knew my name,” Sakura said bitterly. “My real one,” she added, after the ensuing blank silence.

“And do you not believe that this should be attributed to your own sheer carelessness, Kinomoto?” Meiden cut in sharply.

“No, Commander,” Sakura replied simply. “I do not believe that I have been careless in any way.”

“But you let your target escape -” Meiden accused again, but Sakura had had enough.

“Had the situation been under my control, I would not have _let him escape_ , as you so easily put it,” she snapped. “Sadly, I was alone with my charges and both were in no condition to be moved. If I had not seen Meiling unconcious on board, I might have been able to get him down, but the sight distracted me sufficiently. Enough for the target to escape.”

“And you simply let him go?” Meiden's voice was a sneer now.

“As I said, the situation was beyond my control, else I would have followed him,” Sakura stated through gritted teeth. “He was armed with a gun, and he was aiming at my head. Would you rather that I had attempted to seize control of the situation and effectively had my brains blown out?”

“Well...” Meiden seemed to be looking for an excuse, any excuse. “That's far from the point. And besides, how could you let matters escalate that far?”

“It seems to me that you're determined to see me in one light only with regard to this mission,” Sakura said with a sigh. “That's unfortunate. You're supposed to be overseeing the distribution of justice throughout the entire world. How can you do that and allow such an unfair follow-up to my actions?”

Her words were greeted with silence.

“Perhaps you're right,” Commander Kaho spoke up. “Meiden, I don't mean to be impertinent, but I think Kinomoto presents a fair case. After all, we can hardly blame her for all that happened. If indeed the target had been previously informed of her identity and intentions, then there was in fact very little she could have done to prevent the outcome that arose. As a matter of fact, I believe this to be a very alarming breach of confidentiality – that information on one of our Agents has leaked to outside sources. And to the Aconite mafia, no less!“

“I agree with Kaho,“ Commander Yukito said, offering a small smile to Sakura, who merely glowered in return. “And I propose that we dismiss this case, omit it from her record and begin investigating into the state of our security as soon as possible.“

Meiden looked around at the Commanders with raised eyebrows. He turned to his brother, Elden and shrugged.

“Kinomoto bears no responsibility for this failure,“ Elden declared finally. “She should be patched up and reassigned.“

“Very well, very well!“ Meiden snapped. “Kinomoto, nothing will be held against you – or Rae,“ he added, looking at Meiling who sat silently beside Sakura. “You will remain at Headquarters tonight and tomorrow, you will be relocated to a new field area.“

“Yes, Commander,“ Sakura and Meiling chorused.

Meiden nodded curtly.

“Good,“ he said shortly. “That will be all...unless any of you had something else to add -“

“I do, Meiden,“ Syaoran said, nodding at Sakura in an officious sort of way. Sakura threw an icy look his way, which he ignored. “I wanted to know whether Kinomoto had any regrets about this mission -“

“ _Regrets_?” Sakura demanded sharply, her temper inflating once more. ”What do you mean by _regrets_?”

"I mean...do you wish you could have done anything better, Kinomoto?" Syaoran asked sternly. But Sakura could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. He was enjoying his act as Commander, was he?

"What for?" Sakura shot back. "I did the best I could, and I was expected to do no less, either. So what possible regrets –"

"You were assigned this mission because Headquarters could trust you with it," Syaoran replied delicately. "To fail it, and then to behave so arrogantly, is not wise, Kinomoto."

Sakura glared at him. _Oh, you bastard_ , she thought vehemently. _I hope you burn in hell. Twice._

"First of all," she said angrily, "it's not up to me if Headquarters trusts me or not, that's their problem. I never asked for their trust, for all the good it does me. But if you think you're going to shove a case in my face and expect me to pull it off with flying colors, then I'm afraid you're –"

"Am I to understand that if we were to _shove a case in your face_ , as you so accurately put it, you would not invest your full effort into it?" Syaoran interrupted, his amber eyes daring her to reply.

Sakura took the bait and fired up at once. She was _not_ going to let this cocky, pompous, self-strutting asshole get the better of her. Not in front of the Commanders.

"For your information, Li, that _was_ my full effort," she spat. "I was promised by some _trustworthy_ person –" she shot Nakuru a glance before continuing, "-that I would not have to do anything today. I thought that I'd have the day off, and I answered the call anyway –"

"To answer your call is no obligation to us," Syaoran replied, baiting her even further, curious to see how far she would go. "As a CLA member, it is your duty to remember your duties to us."

"Pardon my arrogant behavior," Sakura returned, eyes blazing with cold fury, "but where were _you_ when Nakuru sent the call? Unless I'm sorely mistaken, you were right here when Nakuru assigned me the task. If such an accomplished man like yourself was present, why hand the task out to a minor?"

There was a horrified silence. Sakura was sure that even Li was surprised at her nerve.

" _Sakura_!" Nakuru breathed, horrified. "Apologize to Commander Li for your impertinence immediately!"

"Oh, just shut up! **"** Sakura burst out, jumping to her feet. "You're all a bunch of hypocrites! You hear that? Hypocrites, liars, the whole lot of you! Everything you say, you twist it around the next day, and you don't even care about how many peoples' lives you make hell just to convenience yourselves, you don't even care if I took your words and gave them to you on a silver platter, you'd eat them without a second thought, but you wouldn't _ever_ keep one of your promises –"

"That's enough!" Meiden yelled.

There was silence for one moment. Maybe two. Then Sakura exhaled slowly, her eyes flashing.

"You're right," she said quietly. "That _is_ enough for me."

And without a further thought, she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Nakuru asked sharply.

Sakura turned to face her. "Well, you're firing me, aren't you?"

"I have a good mind to," Meiden said coldly. "However, you will not be dismissed today."

"Well, that's just too bad, Commander," Sakura said, throwing her head haughtily. "Because I quit."

There was yet another silence, which the seniors took to register Sakura's words. Syaoran recovered first.

"You _can't_ be serious-" he began, but Sakura cut him off.

"But I am," Sakura said defiantly. "I'm leaving. Right now. And good riddance, too."

She turned and walked across the apartment to the door, before pausing and turning to face the room's occupants.

"And one more thing," she added as an afterthought. Her face darkened, her eyes forbidding. "Don't you even _think_ of following me."

* * *

 


	5. Interrupted

 

_**chapter iv.** interrupted_

* * *

New York at night was always a sight to savour. With the last of the sun's rays gone from the purpling sky, the city was lit with millions of fancy little lights, glittering like a diamond necklace or a fairy castle even. And of course, no place on the planet had a night life that could compare to the one in New York. By day, the city was a metropolis of different people nmbering in the millions, milling about where they had to. But by night, the city truly came to life, transformed from a mundane system of workers and shoppers to a dazzling affair of ritzy restaurants, divine entertainment and extravagant parties. Indeed, New York at night was something to experience.

The city was no haven though. A far cry from it.

Certain things about the city made it quite risky to those individuals not quite privileged enough to rub shoulders with the greatest and grandest of the social elite. For one matter, those ranking highest in the social hierarchy often crossed paths with underworld overlords best left alone. For another, New York's night life was perhaps as violent as it was flamboyant. In dark alleyways and underground passages, the black market thrived. The drug trade flourished and was chaperoned by its bigger counterpart, weapons trafficking. The mafia lingered in this city, well funded and well nourished. Its upper echelons made millions in heroin and gun patents.

Of course, there was no such thing as a New York mafia. There was no such thing as a mafia specific to any single location. Every mob member in the world could trace themselves directly to the Aconite mafia based in Japan. And why wouldn't they? Even in America, card-carrying mafia elitists tied themselves to the most technologically advanced country in the world. And the Aconite mafia's godparents didn't rest solely among the underworld emperors across the world. Its branches and sponsors could be found even in the largest of global corporations, as greedy businessmen invested in anything promising profits in bullion. It was a dangerous time, not only in New York, but in the world in general. Time and time again, growing links between cities indicated that movements toward a global mafia uprising were well underway.

It was a risky time in underworld and undercover relations.

It wasn't as though justice systems around the world were sitting idly on their bottoms waiting for the catastrophe to arise full circle. Several agencies had managed to cut back the swell of underworld activity in their respective locations. The mafia activity in New York, in particular, had been reduced to crooked deal cutting in corporate boardrooms. Expensive crimes, but redeemable nonetheless. The drugs and arms traffic had halted, collapsing upon itself. Millions were recovered in secret growing houses and arms manufacturers. All across North America, intelligence agencies worked hard to eradicate the threat of an officially unified mafia. Their labours saw fruit as one night, the collapse of the bridges between North American and Japanese mobsters seemed inevitable.

This night was the night diplomacy between underworlds would be torn apart.

Hirigawaza, the head of the Japanese Aconites, placed great importance on his North American associates. They had quite a marketplace of resources to offer him, and he took advantage of them. Many of his underworld enterprises were funded solely by North American profits. It would be quite a blow to his efforts if he lost his North American connections.

The said North American connections were now in the form of a single man. The sole communications bridge between North America and Japan, he was the last link Hirigawaza had overseas. Ken Gray, a simply-named socialite, was the one man who could make a difference in the expansion of the mafia. And his interests, both financially and personally, lay in aiding Hirigawaza in his expansion efforts.

There was a party that night. A typical party of the upper class was more of a formal mingling amongst all invitees over glasses of expensive imported wine and gourmet French cuisine. Since it was close to summer and the night air was balmy and warm, this party in particular decided to host itself outdoors. Fireflies and elegantly wrought garden lamps cast a soft yellow glow on the setting. A small concerto of strings players lent to the classy atmosphere, with classical music filling the air. The soft hums of conversation, the clinking of goblets raised to toasts...one would never have guessed that here, the top members of the North American mafia mingled with the remainder of the socially elite.

Yet they were all present. Namely, three of them: the aforementioned Ken Gray, whose elimination was essential to the collapse of the North American mafia; John Oshiro, who was the head of the North American mafia, and Robert Ito, the financial mastermind of the mafia's enterprises. All three were influential. All three needed to be eliminated.

And all three just happened to be present in this gathering, in plain sight. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

And with a gift for remaining invisible when she wished to, she ripped open a packet of white powder and slipped it into three goblets of fine red wine, the same colour as her hair. Slipping the empty ripped packet into her tissue and handing it to a waiter for disposal, she handed a glass to each of the three mafia members. They took the glasses from her, never suspecting her.

“Keili dear,” John Oshiri commented, taking her slim white hand in his larger one and pressing his lips to her hand, “I've always known that you were suited for much more than what you do right now.”

“Indeed,” Robert Ito said, smiling at the young woman and placing his hand on her shoulder. “I can think of a few positions that would be more befitting of you.”

The three of them chuckled at Ito's _double entendre._

The redheaded woman named Keili clutched the empty tray to her side and smiled disarmingly.

“Now gentlemen,” she said smoothly, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, “I would advise you to behave yourselves here.”

Ken Gray, always the bold one, slid an arm around her waist.

“That's Keili for you,” he said amiably. “Still waters run deep, don't they?”

“I wouldn't know about deep, sir,” Keili replied nonchalantly, making no effort to remove Gray's arm from her waist.

“Oh, stop being a prude,” Gray snorted. He leaned closer to the fiery young woman. “We all know you're a cunning little vixen, and a feisty one at that.”

Keili arched an eyebrow. “Me?”

“I heard you gave Ken a little demonstration,” John Oshiro quipped, eyes glimmering mischievously.

“Did you really, now?” Keili questioned lightly, fey eyes fixed upon Gray's face reproachfully. “Wasn't that supposed to kept quiet, Mr. Gray?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Ken Gray waved her reproach aside. “Besides, it does you credit. You were wonderful.”

“Playing favourites, are we?” Ito taunted as Keili reddened just slightly. “That's not fair to John or I.”

“It's not a matter of preference,” Keili said, composing herself most admirably. “It was more a question of setting, situation and benefits.”

Gray burst out laughing.

“Your formalities are titillating,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “It vexes me.”

“Allow me to remove some of your vexations,” Keili said with her eyes glittering and lips smirking.

“Gladly -” Gray began, but Oshiro cut him off with a scowl.

“You've already had your turn,” he said to Gray, almost petulantly. “If there's anyone who's vexed, it's me.”

“Impatient, are we?” Keili inquired, a small half smile playing about her lips. “That does you no good, Mr. Oshiro.”

And without a further word exchanged, she had slipped out of Gray's possessive hold and entwined herself around Oshiro. Ken Gray momentarily forgot his indignation at being left behind, watching amusedly as Keili pressed her lips against John Oshiro's mouth.

“He looks as though he hasn't gotten any action since college,” Ito remarked, snorting with laughter.

“Or kindergarten,” Gray responded sharply. “Since his mother used to kiss him goodbye.”

The both of them tittered as Oshiro placed his hands on Keili's small waist and pulled her closer to him. Keili responded by parting her lips a little and nibbling his bottom lip teasingly. Oshiro let out a stifled groan and forced her mouth open, sliding his tongue into her mouth.

“My God,” Gray commented, watching the developments with wide eyes. “He really _hasn't_ gotten any since college!”

“He _does_ need to refine his technique,” Ito nodded wisely. “He looks like he's eating her alive.”

Oshiro's hands were travelling a lot lower than they were supposed to. Keili sensed his rough palms tracing her hips, her thighs and then _up_ -

She broke away from him as she felt his fingers graze her inner thighs. He gaped at her, his face flushed and mouth smeared with her dark lipstick.

“Enough for now,” she scolded him. “You're in public, after all.”

“Bravo,” Gray said, though his steely eyes were somewhat narrowed. “I was wondering whether I'd need a spatula to pry you two apart.”

“I must say, I'm disappointed,” Ito interjected, a dark look crossing his face. “I'm the only one here who hasn't had a go yet.”

“So impatient!” Keili exclaimed, running a hand through her hair airily. “I'd never have guessed you men were passing forty!”

Before any of the men could reply, she had set the tray onto the bar and, in one fluid movement, slid onto Ito's lap.

“After all,” she murmured enticingly, breathing hotly into his ear and sending shivers down his spine, “I always save the best for last.”

In another quick motion, she was straddling his legs, hands undoing his tie and prying his collar open.

“What are you -?” Ito gasped with wide eyes and then fell silent as Keili pressed her lips against his pulsing neck and suckled gently.

Gray and Oshiro watched, open-mouthed. Although, Gray reasoned, the view wasn't exactly bad from where he stood. With the silky black fabric of her dress riding higher as she straddled Ito, he had a clear view of her porcelain thighs, and with her shower of red hair flung over her right shoulder, he could see the alabaster skin of her back, pale creamy skin highlighted by the black halter of her dress.

He felt a slight stab of jealousy as he watched Keili's lips move upward from Ito's neck to his jawline and then boldly to his earlobe, where she nibbled and sucked tantalizingly. To calm his nerves, he took a sip of his wine. It tasted somewhat sweeter than usual, but he didn't care, feeling the customary feel of the alcohol numbing his senses.

Keili's hands were moving across Ito's chest, past his shoulders and twined into his hair. Her lips found his and she had captured him in a deep kiss that had him writhing and groaning underneath her in spasms.

_Fucking bastard_ , said a voice in Gray's head viciously. His grip on his glass tightened. Who the hell was Ito anyway? What did Keili see in him that she played with him so? Even _he_ hadn't gotten that much out of her – and _he_ was the most powerful man on the continent! Why, even _Oshiro_ had bruises on his lips because of her – and what had he gotten? Compared to them, absolutely _nothing_.

He downed the rest of his wine, face reddening with temper.

Keili continued with her ministrations, mind disconnected from her actions. She could sense the steam coming out of Gray's ears as he watched her with Ito. Within moments the spiked wine she had given him would come into effect and -

“Get away from him,” Gray growled, his hand bleeding from where the wine goblet had cracked in his palm.

Keili obeyed, pulling away from Ito most ungraciously. Her eyes flitted from Ito to Gray's angry eyes and wounded hand.

“You're hurt!” she exclaimed, removing herself from Ito's lap and running to Gray's side, examining the deep cuts the broken glass made. Blood trickled from his hands and fell to the floor.

“Leave it,” Gray said, wrenching his hand from Keili's insistent fingers.

“But-”

“I said _leave it_ ,” Gray hissed.

Keili took an uncertain step back.

Ito, from where he sat by the bar, had regained his senses and was redding with indignation.

“What the fuck is your problem, Gray?” he demanded, swinging himself out of his seat and getting to his feet.

“You shut the hell up!” Gray ordered, the wine taking effect. “And don't you fucking swear at _me_!”

Oshiro made his way to Gray's side and placed his hands around his shoulders.

“What's up with you?” he asked, surprised. “What's got you so riled all of a sudden?”

Gray let out a roar and flung Oshiro off of him. John Oshiro crashed into the bar and within moments, leapt to his feet, face alarmingly purple.

“ _You fucking bastard_!” he yelled. “ _What the fuck was that for_?”

Keili let out a small whimper, whitening knuckles pressed to her mouth.

Gray heard her and spared her a glance.

“Go home,” he ordered. “I'll meet you there later.”

Keili nodded quickly and walked away as fast as she could. No one paid her much attention as she left the gathering venue. Only once she had made her way onto the street did she allow the smallest of smiles to cross her face.

Phase One of her plan had worked like a charm. Now it was time to initiate Phase Two.

* * *

She made her way to her apartment, located on the tenth floor of a ritzy and expensive complex barely a block away from the venue of the party she had just left. She entered the lobby and smiled at the elevator guard, dressed in his expensive-looking uniform.

“Keili,” he nodded. “You're back early. It's only half past midnight.”

Keili flashed him a quick grin.

“I had some urgent work,” she offered. “Had to leave early.”

The guard noted her messy hair, her smudged lipstick and swollen lips, and nodded slowly.

“I see...”

* * *

She opened the door of her apartment, slid into her room and shut the door behind her as quickly as possible. Not bothering to turn on the lights for fear of being observed, she made her way to her closet, kicking off her stilettos and shimmying out of her slinky black dress. She reached for a pair of comfortable black trousers, a lacy camisole and her black jacket and slid them on, guarding against the sudden chill in the night air. She slid her feet into her black leather boots and when she closed her closet and looked in the mirror, she was pleased to see that it was difficult to discern herself against the darkness of the night. She opened her balcony door slightly and slipped onto her wide balcony, closing the door behind her.

Sliding down to crouch with her back against the balcony wall, she fiddled with a box, opening it and sliding out three pieces of a two-foot long sniper's rifle. She attached the cartridge to the bridge, and set to work connecting a foot long eyepiece to the bridge. Loading the rifle with a single streamlined bullet, she locked the rifle in place. She raised her arm, pleased to see the barrel of the rifle form a single straight line from her shoulder to the tip of the gun, her aim fixed by a crosshair in the centre of her eyepiece. She stood up swiftly, standing in the shadows so that she couldn't be spotted. She climbed onto the edge of the balcony and stood, her left hand gripping a handle she had installed on the ceiling so that she could lean out over the edge of her balcony without losing her balance.

She squinted into the eyepiece, magnifying her vision so that she could see an angry Ken Gray sitting alone at the party she had left recently. There was no sign of John Oshiro or Robert Ito. Keili predicted that Gray had ordered them to be eliminated from the picture. The things men did when they got jealous...

She focused again, Gray's torso centered in the crosshair of her eyepiece. A slight wind teased a strand of hair across her forehead. Her arm was shaking. Not significantly. But enough to impair her aim. She frowned. She had only one shot at this. But was the gun too heavy for her to carry...?

A slight rustling caught her attention. The soft swishing of padded feet against concrete. Someone else was present. On this balcony. Barely two steps away from her. _Breathing._ Watching her.

Her body stiffened, her finger still resting on the trigger. Something cold and solid was pressed against the side of her head and she didn't need to see it in order to know that it was a gun.

A voice whispered in her ear – snide, masculine, _horribly_ familiar...

“Under the strangest of circumstances,” it said, “we meet once again, _Ying Fa_.”

* * *

 


	6. Challenged

_**chapter v.** challenged_

* * *

She didn't move her head. Not just yet. There was no telling whether he would actually shoot or not. Knowing him, it was probably just another power show. To test her guts. And _oh_...how she hated being tested repeatedly!

Plus, she had a little trick up her sleeve too. It wasn't as though she had never prepared for this moment.

And, awkwardly positioned as she was, with her right arm holding the rifle, left arm holding the handle on the ceiling, and feet placed delicately on the railing of the balcony, one would hardly expect her to be in any advantageous stance.

That was until she reined herself back into the balcony, standing with her right arm still extended. Then, without a blink of her eyes, she pulled the handle on the ceiling down with her left hand with such force, it came off in her hand. Except...it wasn't just a handle she had been holding on to.

It was the triggerhold of an enormous Sig Sauer, which she had hidden in the ceiling previously, just in case she had been found at her most vulnerable. And now, with a considerably large gun in her left hand, she took advantage of her superior weaponry and placed the barrel of the gun directly in front of her assailant's head.

“Bravo,” he said, removing his gun from the side of her head and placing both of his hands in the air, the universal gesture for _I surrender_. “Although I must say...the 550 assault rifle was rather unexpected, Ying Fa. Or, should I say – _Keili_?”

Sakura (alias Keili) tossed her head haughtily, turning to face Li, both guns still raised.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she spat, eyes spitting out sparks.

“So glad to see you haven't lost your hospitality out here,” Li commented, somewhat wryly as Sakura's left index finger tightened around the trigger of the Sig Sauer aimed directly at his head.

“If I hadn't been in the middle of something important,” she hissed, pressing the barrel of her gun directly in between his eyes, “I wouldn't have hesitated to kill you right now.”

Li's amber eyes bore into her own, trying to spot a bluff. He couldn't find one.

“You're getting me wrong -” he started, but Sakura interrupted him.

“If I shot you, there'd be noise. I'd attract unnecessary attention to myself, plus, your body would be quite a liability for me. If you don't get the hell out of here right now, I'm going to dispose of my target first, and then find a quieter way of getting rid of _you_.”

Li chucked albeit a little uneasily.

“Hey hey,” he said, his voice quavering a little (to Sakura's immense satisfaction). “Just take it easy. Relax. I'm here to help. Really.”

Sakura's eyebrows shot up. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this.

“I don't _need_ rescuing -” she began furiously, but Li cut her off.

“I'm not here to rescue anyone,” he said, rather impatiently. “I'm here because you seemed to be taking an unusually long time to shoot your target and I thought you might need _help_. It's a completely different story. Now, would you mind removing that Sig? It's starting to get intimidating.”

“I don't _need_ your help,” Sakura muttered under her breath, but complied and lowered the Sig Sauer in her left hand. It was getting heavy anyway.

Syaoran worked quickly. He grabbed the specialty rifle attached to her right arm and detached the cartridge.

“What are you -?” Sakura began, but Syaoran silenced her with a swish of his hand. She fell into an indignant silence.

He pulled the bullet out of the cartridge and pocketed it. Sakura's eyes followed him questioningly as he withdrew a small package from the inside of his jacket and pried it open.

“Your bullet's good,” he commented, removing the outer layer of film on the tiny package he had just taken out. “But I'm sure you noticed those tiny grooves on the head, or the slight bulk on the end.”

Sakura nodded stiffly. Of course she had. But it was the best she got out here. It wasn't like she could rely on the CLA, which always had the superior weaponry.

“We developed one recently,” Syaoran said, pulling something out of the package. “State of the art. Take a look.”

When Sakura didn't move, he grabbed her left hand and pressed whatever he was holding into her palm. Sakura examined the fine silver bullet, trying to find a flaw, but she couldn't.

“Perfectly streamlined,” Syaoran explained, while Sakura rotated the sleek bullet in between her fingers. “And the exterior is a special alloy designed by the lab to hold up even better at high speeds, reducing drag and resisting decomposition at high temperatures.”

“Does it fly straight?” Sakura asked, frowning.

Syaoran snorted.

“Of course it does,” he answered. “What did you think? I'd come all this way just to give you a faulty bullet and get both of our lives on the line here?”

“Yes,” Sakura replied sincerely. “That sounds exactly like something you'd do.”

Syaoran's only response was to snatch the bullet from Sakura's fingers and slide it unceremoniously into the cartridge. Sakura wondered dimly if she'd offended him, and then, as he replaced the cartridge into the rifle with a violent jerk of his hand, she decided she didn't care.

“Go,” he said darkly, with a jerk of his head.

Sakura would have complied, but her arm was now sore from holding the heavy rifle up for so long. Plus, she no longer had a handle on the ceiling to hold on to.

Her slight hesitation caught Syaoran's attention.

He rolled his eyes and, without a word of warning, materialized at her side. He placed his right arm underneath hers, to help her support her working arm.

“Heavy gun,” he commented, raising an eyebrow.

Sakura didn't respond. It didn't matter that he was bearing the entire weight of the rifle with his arm, leaving her strength to aim and focus. She squinted through the eyepiece, trying to fix the target's torso in the middle of the crosshair.

She had her aim. She just needed to get closer. If only she could lean out of the balcony -

Syaoran wrapped his left arm around her waist and hoisted her a few inches further out of the balcony.

“Better?” he asked, his mouth right by her ear.

_Yes_ , Sakura thought, but didn't say anything out loud. Gray's heart was now in the centre of her crosshair. She fingered the trigger, felt Syaoran's arm tighten around her waist reassuringly and then, squeezed the trigger decisively.

The bullet flew silently, and Sakura saw her target wince a moment later. She could see the fine red bloodstain forming on his shirt and lowered her gun. Syaoran pulled her off the balcony and set her on her feet.

Sakura set to work quickly, stashing her weaponry into its box and then lowering the box into its hiding spot in the balcony wall. With a quick brush of dust over the area, it was indistinguishable from its surroundings.

She turned around and saw Syaoran standing at the balcony door.

“We should get a move on,” he said, his voice perfectly composed and toneless. “We don't want to get spotted, after all.”

Sakura nodded curtly, making her way through the balcony door. Syaoran followed. Moments later, it was as though they had never been there.

* * *

Sakura allowed Syaoran to lead the way. It wasn't as though she didn't know her way around New York. Of course she did. It was just that Syaoran Li wasn't here without a reason, and until he chose to divulge, she would continue with her silent protest.

They stopped in front of a set of stairs leading to an underground facility. A giant luminous sign read _Zinc Bar_.

Syaoran glanced at Sakura, who shrugged.

“Nice place,” she said casually.

As though waiting for her approval, he began to descend the steps, Sakura walking not beside him, but not behind him. They made their way down the stairs in complete silence, and entered the subterranean jazz bar without exchanging a word.

It was surprisingly crowded, considering it was past midnight. The plush seats and tiny round wooden tables near the stage were filled with people. There was a band playing lively reggae and onstage, a corpulent woman filled the air with her throaty vocals.

Syaoran led Sakura to the backroom lounge, where it was at once less crowded, but the music still echoed audibly. The feel of the lounge was different from the jazzy energetic ambience of the stage. The bar was a vibrant red, as were the chairs and round tables. The floor and walls were a rich wooden hue, and the lighting was dim and hazy. The lounge was smaller, an area of relaxation. Intimate.

They found themselves a small table, close to the bar. The air smelled of smoke and alcohol. The sound of ice cubes clinking around in glasses mixed with the lively music hovering in the air. The temperature was warm. Sakura undid the buttons of her jacket, revealing a lacy navy camisole that offset the paleness of her skin while providing Syaoran with an advantageous view of her chest. His lips quirked up slightly as he unzipped his leather jacket and pulled it off, leaving him in a T-shirt that did his tanned, toned physique justice. If Sakura hadn't had impeccable self control, she would be drooling.

Syaoran got up, draped his jacket around his chair, and went to the bar. He returned promptly with two giant martinis, placing one in front of Sakura.

“To a successful venture,” he said, raising his glass to a toast, “and a happy twenty-third birthday.”

Sakura's mouth dropped open slightly, before she hitched it back up. It amazed her how he could remember stupid little details when she couldn't be bothered to. In reality, she had completely forgotten about her birthday.

She sipped the martini. It was quite good.

Syaoran watched her, cocking an eyebrow.

“You'd never drink in front of me before,” he observed, sipping his own martini.

Sakura shrugged, setting her drink down on the table.

“I was scared stiff of you before,” she admitted.

“I was aware of that,” Syaoran replied, taking another swig from his martini glass. “Why aren't you scared now?”

_So many reasons_ , Sakura thought. Outwardly, she gave him a frozen glare.

“You're not my senior anymore,” she stated rather matter-of-factly. “I can do whatever I want, and you don't have to crawl back to the rest of the Field Commanders.”

“Ying Fa -”

“Don't bother apologizing, if that's what you were going to do,” Sakura interrupted lightly. “I've gotten used to being used and betrayed.”

“I wasn't going to apologize,” Syaoran said, still remarkably cool. “I was going to account for myself.”

“You've had more than six years to do so,” Sakura replied, taking the martini glass in her hand and taking a deep gulp.

“You wouldn't listen.”

“Of course I wouldn't,” Sakura answered, eying him coolly over the rim of her glass. “You toyed with me and then threw me aside to fend for myself. First mission, no less. You were just as responsible as I was for the failure of that particular venture. Where were you while I took the blame for everything? Off saving your own neck. What else was there for me to listen to? You didn't give a damn about me and -”

“Didn't give a damn?” Syaoran repeated incredulously, his voice heating up. “Do you know what the consequences would have been if I'd given a damn?”

Sakura rolled her eyes and took another sip of her martini.

“Let me enlighten you.” Syaoran's voice was now harsh, his fingers tightly wrapped around the martini glass. “If I'd given a damn, Headquarters wouldn't have had to look into a failed mission. They'd have to probe into our relationship. They'd figure out that _we broke CLA regulations_. You _know_ what happens to agents who break cardinal rules, Ying Fa. They don't just get disgraced. They face expulsion, sedation, memory modification and permanent rehabilitation. Perhaps even incapacitation or execution.”

“Are you trying to justify yourself as a _hero_ now, Li?” Sakura demanded, slamming her glass down onto the table. “You've had more than six years to come up with an excuse -”

“I'm not making excuses and you know it.” He set his glass down carefully. “Maybe you'd prefer that the both of us suffered consequences we really didn't need to suffer, but the way I see it, I think that would have done more harm. It would have been the stupid thing to do. Admit it.”

Sakura didn't answer. She stirred the martini, stony-faced, stabbing the olive mutinously.

Syaoran sighed.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Sakura retorted immediately, face impassive. “You didn't do anything for the last six years. Just keep it that way. I'm sick of waiting and I'm sick of playing lackey to your graciousness. I've moved on, Li. I don't need you in my life. You've been nothing but a thorn in my side. I don't care anymore. Just forget it ever happened.”

She made as if to stand up, but he caught her hands in his before she could do so.

“I think you're bluffing,” he said softly. “Because if you really didn't care, you wouldn't be walking out on me here.”

“Let go of me,” Sakura said quietly.

“You don't want me to,” Syaoran replied, arching an eyebrow.

Sakura wrenched her hands out of his grasp, eyes blazing.

“You're usually good at misinterpreting me, so I'll make this easy for you,” she hissed. “I'm not the same stupid teenager you were assigned with six years ago. I've changed out here. I've been fending for myself for five years. I've done things to men more influential than yourself that would give you nightmares for a month. I'm happy by myself. I have power, I have influence, and I have _freedom_.”

“You're also a young woman caught up in a lifestyle that's risky at best,” Syaoran returned swiftly.

Sakura eyed him piercingly.

“For your very kind and chauvinistic information, Mr. Li,” she said acidly, “I've discovered in my experience that women are _infinitely_ more dangerous than men. Especially when they're armed with a sharp wit, excessive sensuality, and a very large gun.”

Syaoran nodded.

“You forgot to mention a _complete_ lack of scruples,” he pointed out rather wryly.

Sakura treated him to her best vampire smile.

“Morality is useful for those who wish to avoid going to hell,” she explained, her voice like honey with a generous dash of nightshade. “For the rest of us who're in a living hell right now, morals are the last thing you need.”

“Your actions speak louder than your words,” Syaoran said, amused. “I was watching your antics with your – rather elderly godfathers, not more than a few hours ago. God, I was jealous.”

Sakura couldn't help it. Her face split into a small smile before she schooled her expression to neutrality. But small butterflies danced around the pit of her stomach, flattered.

“So what brings you here to this neck of the woods?” she asked, rather civilly. “I'm pretty sure it wasn't just to send me birthday greetings. Or because you were running low on action wherever in the world you were.”

“Not true,” Syaoran corrected her with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Being with you always promises entertainment. Intellectually _and_ physically.”

“So you were running low on entertainment?” Sakura scoffed, her voice growing rather disgusted. “And you came running to me. My self esteem just took a nosedive there, I think.”

“Your self esteem wouldn't budge if you were my paying whore,” Syaoran replied, smirking. “Six years haven't changed you at _all_ , Ying Fa.”

“Oh, I just can't wait to prove you wrong there, Li,” Sakura said gleefully, clapping her hands together. “You don't know what you're messing with here.”

“True,” Syaoran commented, staring her down. “But I'd love to try. And see you mess back.”

“You're not getting any free samples,” Sakura said with a frown. “Now tell me what you're here for, or else I'm going away for good this time.”

Her words lingered on the air. In the next room, the band had taken up a sultry score of Latin-infused jazz that sent the temperature of the bar rocketing past sizzling.

Syaoran drained his martini glass before setting it down on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We need you back,” he said simply.

Sakura blinked. Twice.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, sitting up straighter. Just in case she hadn't heard correctly.

“We. Need. You. Back,” Syaoran repeated, enunciating each word carefully. “I mean it. That's why I'm here. The CLA managed to track you down and I was the lucky one assigned to play messenger boy.”

Sakura opened and closed her mouth, speechless.

“The Aconites are regrouping,” he said quickly, before Sakura regained her voice. “I know you've pretty much done away with them here in North America. Hirigawaza's aware of that. He knows he can't expect much here. Which is why he's doubling his efforts in Europe. He's working through another corporate shark, with even more connections than Ken Gray -”

“No,” Sakura said suddenly.

Syaoran stopped short, glancing at her confusedly.

“No?” he repeated, raising both eyebrows. Trying to understand.

“No,” Sakura said with more emphasis. “I won't do it.”

“Do what?” he demanded, exasperated. “For crying out loud, you don't even know what you have to do! I haven't even finished with details yet -”

“I'm not doing it,” Sakura said flatly. “They can't honestly expect me to come back after the way they treated me last time around, and I'm not going back. Convey my shallowest regards to Meiden and the rest of them. If possible, please tell them to boil their heads and transplant their brains.”

Syaoran fought to keep his face straight.

“Your commission is being raised,” he continued. “A full one percent directly off the payoff of this task.”

Sakura's eyes widened.

“ _One_ percent?” she asked, open-mouthed. “But that's – that's -”

“A Field Commander's pay?” Syaoran finished for her. “Yeah, it is. You were due for a promotion before you left, remember?”

“Was I?” Sakura challenged, raising an eyebrow. “I didn't clear my last mission -”

“Ah,” Syaoran cut her across, “but you didn't fail it either. That particular mission was expunged from your record.”

“Then how did I end up with a promotion?” Sakura asked sceptically, eying him. “I'm trusting it wasn't any favour on your part.”

Syaoran snorted.

“Of course not,” he said, sounding more like his cynical old self. “We needed a new Field Commander. We were ready to promote Kitsune, but then he lost a leg in the explosions down in Spain. Bit of a setback. No one else had a clean record. Then we noticed that things in North America were clearing up. Nakuru thought of you immediately.”

“Charmed,” Sakura muttered under her breath.

“So they tried tracing you, and guess what? The tracer in your arm worked up straightaway. So we had your coordinates and medical stats. It didn't take long to figure out that you were the one behind the successful disintegration of the entire North American mafia. That was enough of an accomplishment for Meiden.”

Sakura raised both eyebrows.

“I'm sure,” she said sarcastically, giving him a beady glare.

Syaoran interpreted correctly.

“I did give my input,” he admitted. “I assure you that I tried my best to reverse the decision. But I got overruled, of course. And then – I think they did it just to spite me – they sent me all the way here to try convince you.”

“I wouldn't have expected any more from you, either,” Sakura snorted, shaking her head and pressing her fingers to her temples.

“If you do take on this task, which I hope you do,” Syaoran spoke deliberately and slowly, “you'll face full and immediate integration with the CLA. No questions asked, no prejudices harboured. You'll have the power and influence that you've always craved.”

“But no freedom.” Sakura's head had shot up. Her eyes glittered defiantly.

Syaoran shrugged.

“You'll be better off than as an Agent, I suppose,” he said. “Plus, you'll have unlimited monetary funds and the most sophisticated technology at your disposal. And let's not mention your giant commission.”

“ _One_ percent,” Sakura breathed.

“One percent,” Syaoran nodded, hiding a smile. “And let me clue you in on one thing, Ying Fa: those Aconites have been ripping _billions_ off the budget. One percent of that is yours if you manage to pull this off.”

Sakura struggled to absorb this.

“That's _quite_ a bit of money,” she finished shakily. “Plus – reintegration with the CLA...as a _Commander_...”

“It's what you always dreamed of, isn't it?” Syaoran stated rather than asked. He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a slim black folder. He slid it across the table to Sakura, who caught it with trembling fingers.

“So...” she said, regaining her composure as she opened the folder. “Who's my partner going to be for this mission?”

Syaoran let a Cheshire cat grin play about his mouth.

“Well...as Field Commanders only work with other Field Commanders,” he began leisurely, watching Sakura stiffen, “and as Nakuru, Yukito and Kaho were already busy...”

“Spit it out already!” Sakura crossed her arms, her face thunderously dark.

“We-ell...” Syaoran said with a deft wink. “Seeing as I'm already _here_...”

Sakura caught on right away.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” she said disbelievingly. “I'm stuck with _you_?”

* * *

 


	7. Anticipated

 

_**chapter vi.** anticipated_

* * *

Syaoran raised both of his eyebrows.

“It's all or nothing, Ying Fa,” he said, rather sternly. “You can take it, or leave it.”

Green met amber as they stared each other down. It was a private battle of wills, except...there was no battle. None at all. Sakura needed to accept the mission, and partnering with Li didn't change much for her. She knew she was over her obsession of him. She knew she could control him, despite what he thought. Her fingers tightened around the slim black folder containing her assignment details.

“I'll take it,” she said quietly.

Syaoran nodded, his face clearing of all visible expression. His eyes, however, still glittered with some inexplicable mirth.

“Let's go back,” he said, glancing at his Swiss Army wristwatch. “It's almost two in the morning, and you need your beauty sleep.”

He got up and turned away, hiding a smirk as Sakura tossed him a vicious glare that may have burned a hole into the back of his head.

* * *

They stopped in front of Sakura's tenth-floor apartment. Sakura paused in front of her door, her face impassive as Syaoran stood barely two steps behind her. She unlocked her door and opened it slowly, just a crack.

To her dismay, Syaoran's hand shot out, pushing the door wide open. Sakura hesitated on the threshold of her apartment. Was he planning on coming _inside..._?

He walked into her apartment, brushing past her without a by-your-leave, and headed into her closet. Sakura watched him, stupefied for a moment, before shutting her door hurriedly and following him into her closet.

“ _What are you doing_?” she hissed, watching as he pulled clothes off of hangers, folded them quickly, and piled them on the closet floor.

Syaoran glanced at her, midway through folding a dark blue pencil skirt.

“I'm helping you pack,” he replied, giving her a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “Or rather, packing for you, as you don't seem to be doing much work here...”

Sakura shook her head despairingly, and set to work stripping her closet down to the wall. She worked quicker than Syaoran, attacking her lingerie before he could get his hands on them like last time.

“Don't worry,” Syaoran called, pulling a bold red dress off of a hanger and shaking it out gently. “I've got the apartment next door. I'm not spending the night here. You don't have to worry about hiding those from me, thanks.”

Sakura glanced at the pile of underwear she had just covered with an old nightgown, and felt her face burn bright red. Syaoran's lips curved into his trademark smirk, pleased to see her embarrassed already.

Her expansive closet sorted into three piles of clothing, the two of them turned to face the remainder of the apartment.

“Anything else yours?” Syaoran asked, eyes scanning the furniture doubtfully.

Sakura shrugged.

“A Sig Sauer, a few boxes of ammo, a box of throwing knives -”

“ _Throwing knives_?” Syaoran echoed, disgust creeping onto his face. “How – what do you need those for?”

Sakura's eyes met his, and she grinned a malicious grin that made him take a couple of steps backward.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Forget I asked.”

“Leverage,” was all Sakura chose to answer. Syaoran shuddered slightly, trying not to imagine what the result would be if he was ever alone in a room with Sakura and a box of throwing knives...

“You'd best get your weaponry out,” Syaoran advised her. “On second thought – just hide it really well. You can't travel with those. I'll – we'll have someone pick it all up for us.”

“You're acting as though I've never had to make quick escapes before, Li,” Sakura said pointedly. “You're treating me like an amateur.”

She didn't even notice him until he was right behind her. Her senses tingled on high alert as she sensed rather than felt his body behind hers. The faint scent of his cologne reached her nostrils. His shallow breathing tickled the back of her neck. Slowly, his hands rested on her shoulders. He took a step closer to her, pulling her toward him.

She stiffened and wriggled out of his grasp. He let her go easily, grinning as she turned to face him, panting a little.

“See?” he queried cheerfully. “No matter what you say, you're still the same Ying Fa.”

Sakura's eyes were blazing dangerously. No one human would have been able to hold her gaze without quailing. But Syaoran held her gaze with ease.

_Alright_ , Sakura thought vindictively. _You're pulling the old seduction trick, aren't you Li? Two can play at that_.

He stepped toward her. She took a step backward, with an expression on her face akin to a trapped animal. He took another step toward her, and she evened the distance between them by taking another step backward. He stepped forward yet again. Sakura stepped backward again, only to find her progress halted by a very solid wall.

Moments later, Syaoran closed in on her. He moved so he was standing right in front of her, and placed his palms on the wall, one on each side of her face. He was all she could see, all she could smell, all she could think of... He was crowding her senses, confusing her as he closed the distance between them, his body pressing against hers.

“You haven't changed one bit,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “I'll be looking forward to this mission.”

“Looking forward?” Sakura repeated, making sure her voice sounded just as weak and strained as she appeared. “If I were you, I'd be feeling very...nervous.”

Syaoran chuckled a little. He leaned so that his head rested on top of hers. He could feel her quivering beneath him, feel the erratic beating of her heart. He knew she was bluffing.

“Nervous?” he asked, humouring her a little. “And why's that?”

Sakura allowed herself to speak in a stronger voice as she replied.

“You're working with the new Sakura.”

Syaoran scoffed softly. His hands dropped to her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her bare neck lightly. She shivered a little.

“Enlighten me,” he said softly. “What is the difference between the old Sakura and the new one?”

Sakura gave him a small smile that rang with defiance.

“You can do what you want to the new Sakura, and she won't care,” she replied, her voice hoarse but even.

Syaoran seemed to like this answer, because his hands were trailing down her arms and rested firmly on her waist.

“Like I said,” he whispered, tilting her head backward so that they were eye-to-eye, “I'll be looking forward to this very much. _Especially_ since you're willing...”

He pressed his mouth to hers, tasting her lips gently. They tasted just the way he remembered them, like a sweet concoction of cherries and honey and peppermint and – he needed more. He nibbled on her bottom lip, trying to gain access to her mouth.

Then it struck him.

Sakura was as unresponsive as the wall behind her.

Her eyes were closed, her heart was beating faster, but apart from that...nothing. Growing slightly angry, he applied more pressure to her mouth, forcing her to part her lips and allow him to enter.

She kept her mouth obstinately shut.

He kissed her harder, his hands tightening around her waist so that his fingers left bruises upon her pale skin. Then, he tasted something that was different from the sweet taste of Sakura's lips.

Blood.

He pulled away angrily. Sakura opened her eyes, gazing at him lazily with flushed cheeks and swollen, bleeding lips.

“I didn't say I was willing,” she said in a low voice, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I just said that I didn't care.”

She smirked as he drew away from her.

“Get back to your room, Li,” she spat viciously. “I think that martini turned your head. I suggest you sleep it off. We have an early morning tomorrow, don't we?”

“Five o'clock,” Syaoran said curtly, his voice like a knife thrust. “I'll be here in three hours. You'd better be ready to leave by then.”

“You'd better not be threatening me there, Li,” Sakura warned him, a dangerous glint coming into her eyes. She pulled herself to her full height, which was neither considerable nor intimidating, yet all the same, her body language conveyed one message clearly. _Don't mess with me_.

His eyes darkened forbiddingly. There was a muscle going in his clenched jaw as he tilted his head haughtily.

“Only the weak feel threatened,” he retorted contemptuously before turning on his heel and walking out of her apartment. He paused at the door, a hand resting on the doorknob.

“Five in the morning,” he said quietly, not facing her. “Otherwise I'm breaking down the door.”

With that, he stepped through the doorway and shut the door behind him. Sakura stood, staring at the spot he had been standing in moments earlier. Then she unfroze, running her hands through her long red hair.

_And to think we almost had a civil conversation!_ she thought explosively, sitting on the edge of her bed. Memories of the night replayed before her eyes. Syaoran appearing unexpectedly on the balcony, to _help_ her. Going out for drinks in the middle of the night. Helping her pack. It was almost like the old days. Like when she was seventeen years old and fresh on her first mission and didn't know what to expect from life. And when life had thrown Syaoran at her, she had accepted him with wide open arms and the assured naivety of a foolish teenager.

But no amount of fleeting happiness concealed in a memory could persuade her to ignore what she was forced to do at present. What she had gone through after her dreams had shattered and her first mission failed. What five years of living on her own had taught her.

Wanted people never lived very long. Targeted people lived short lives. The brave lived even shorter, snuffed out of existence before their light could shine brightest. But the weak...the weak didn't live at all. Too timid or too vulnerable to come into existence, they would merely linger on the sidelines, simply waiting for death or harm to come to them.

Sakura couldn't afford to be weak. She needed to live. She had to. And for that, she couldn't allow herself to have any weaknesses.

She glanced at the wall that separated her apartment from Syaoran's.

_Especially_ not when she'd almost been destroyed by him before...

* * *

Syaoran had his share of shortcomings. He was far from the ideal man. Blessed with incredibly good looks and a charming persona, he lacked many things. Sensitivity. Selflessness. Scruples. Modesty. Charity. Manners, on occasion. He was perfectly aware of the effect he had on any member of the opposite sex who laid eyes on him. He had no qualms about pressing his advantage to either complete his missions or to pursue free entertainment on the side. He knew he was one of the best in his field, which was why he had been promoted to Field Commander without the aid of his father's legacy. He was dangerous. He was unpredictable. He was the world's biggest flirt and revelled in it.

But there was one thing that Syaoran was not. And that was tardy.

Sakura had just finished slipping her feet into her black stilettos when, precisely at five o'clock, a sharp knock could be heard on the door.

She opened the door to let him in.

“Just to remind you that you're supposed to be in business – ah.”

Syaoran's eyes rested on Sakura, dressed in a creamy ivory blouse, a charcoal pencil skirt and a smoky grey blazer, cut to flatter her slim shape. From the tips of her hair, secure in its swept updo, to the pointy toes of her shoes, she looked like a professional.

“Well...” he struggled for words as Sakura straightened and looked at him curiously, “we'd best get going. Do you need any help with those?”

Without waiting for her to reply, he took one of the two large suitcases in his hands. Sakura nodded at him as she lifted the other suitcase in her hands.

“Thanks,” she offered.

He grunted in response. They made their way out of her apartment building and into a taxi waiting on the ground floor. Evidently Syaoran had already issued the driver with instructions, because the moment the two of them climbed into the back of the vehicle, the taxi was off. Sakura took a quick glance backward, at what had been her dwelling (she refused to call it “ _home_ ”) for nearly two months. It had been comfortable, living in New York. Luxurious, if not a bit dangerous. And now she was back in the CLA, plunging headfirst into the midst of the crime she had learned to fight all her life.

Only this time, she didn't feel so sure of herself. She'd looked over her case details and didn't like what she read. Because what she and Syaoran had been assigned to do...she had tried it, just six months earlier. And it had backfired. Gone horribly wrong. She was wary of reentering the lion's den after having narrowly escaped it the first time.

But this time around, she had the resources of the CLA at her disposal. That had to count for something. Besides, Syaoran was a force to be reckoned with, she thought to herself. For all his frivolity, he was one of the best on the field. Sakura had cause to know this, having been overshadowed by him several times on her first mission. She had managed to learn so much, just by watching him. The way he planned his moves. The way he executed them flawlessly. There was Syaoran and then there was the then-Agent Li. Syaoran may have been a bit of a bother, but Li was a man without scruples or feelings. Throughout her years, Sakura had tried to mimic his style of reconnaissance, eventually developing her own unique methods of achieving her ends. But they involved similar practices. Espionage. Disguises. Emotional tomfoolery. Silencers. Hand-to-hand combat, if all else failed.

Maybe that was why they had been assigned to work together once again. It was obvious that, as professionals, their work styles and habits complemented each other's perfectly. Sakura had done a lot of growing in the last six years. Maybe Syaoran had more experience in complex situations, being a Field Commander and all, but she had dealt with situations the CLA hadn't even heard of. With his orthodoxy and her wild streak, maybe it would be enough to conquer this mission and once and for all, cancel out the painful memories of her first failed mission.

Sakura closed her eyes, already feeling more at ease.

It would all start in London.

* * *

Within two short hours, they were seated in a _British Airways_ airliner, side-by-side in luxurious business class. They had boarded the airplane under the aliases of Taro and Kasumi Maeda, a married couple. Sakura had fought hard to keep her irritation from showing on her face as Syaoran had introduced themselves to the customs lady.

“Good morning,” he had said, flashing his most charming grin at the young brunette behind the counter who was staring at him, trying to hide the fact that she was open-mouthed. “My, but you don't look like you've been up all night, miss. However do you do it?”

Sakura had rolled her eyes and tapped the toes of her shoe impatiently while Syaoran carried on his oh-so-important (not) conversation with the brunette, who was taken enough with the man's careful flattery.

About five thousand years later, it seemed, the brunette seemed to remember her job and began asking her customary questions.

“Your name?” she asked, as though offering a dinner invitation rather than security clearance.

“Taro Maeda,” Syaoran had said, casually ruffling his thick unruly hair.

“Oh...” the brunette said, nodding. “And uh – your stay in New York -?”

“A month,” Syaoran replied smoothly. “Just long enough to close a business deal.”

“You're heading to London for business, then?” the brunette asked, shuffling some papers here and then.

“In a manner of speaking...” Syaoran trailed off, catching Sakura's eye and ducking as she threw a decidedly unfriendly glare at him.

“Are you travelling with anyone?” the brunette asked, her eyes lingering on Sakura as though seeing her for the first time. Sakura's glare intensified as she crossed her arms around her chest forbiddingly.

“Yes I am,” Syaoran said, gazing at Sakura with a grin. He put her arm around her shoulders. “Kasumi Maeda. My wife.”

The brunette's face had reddened considerably then. Obviously embarrassed over her attempts to flirt with a man while his wife was present, she ushered them through without asking any further questions.

“Easy,” Syaoran drawled as they walked to their waiting lounges. He didn't bother removing his arm from around Sakura's shoulders.

Sakura had tossed him an irritated glare.

“Must you _always_ go out of your way to seduce the first member of the opposite sex you lay eyes on?” she demanded through gritted teeth.

Syaoran had snorted at that.

“That was not _seducing_ ,” he corrected, eyes alight with mischief. “Seducing would involve some resistance on her part, and some effort on mine.”

“Thanks for the distinction,” Sakura muttered. “Would you care to let go of me now?”

“Nope.” Syaoran had shook his head, his grin widening as he pulled her closer to him.

Sakura's eyes had narrowed.

“And why not?” she hissed dangerously.

Syaoran's arm had slid almost instantly to her waist.

“I'm not done seducing you yet,” he whispered into her ear. “My dear _Kasumi_.”

Sakura fought back a yelp as she felt his warm breath tickle the sides of her face gently. Resisting the urge to stomp down on his foot as hard as she could, she turned to face him.

“At the risk of sounding crude...” she said slowly, her face darkening with each word, “are you always _this_ horny, or is it just around me?”

There had been a brief pause as Syaoran absorbed Sakura's words, his face perfectly composed.

“I'll have to say...” Syaoran had replied seriously, “it's just around you.”

Sakura had seriously, _seriously_ considered screaming “Rape!” at the top of her lungs in the middle of the crowded airport, but then, thankfully (or not, depending on whose perspective) they reached the lounge and Syaoran removed his arm from her waist as they sat down, waiting for their airplane.

Presently, Sakura was pretending to sleep. She had managed to get a few minutes' worth of rest, but now, she was only sleeping to avoid talking to Li. He still wasn't taking her seriously. It was as though they weren't heading to London for a serious mission at all. It seemed more like a...she frowned...romantic getaway.

_Ugh_ , she thought, grimacing as she turned her head, trying to get comfortable. _A romantic getaway with Li..._

Her thoughts were interrupted as Syaoran spoke, rather softly.

“You know, I'd have found your pretence of sleep just a little more believable if it wasn't for that expression on your face.”

Sakura groaned inwardly. Was two hours' worth of peace too much to ask for?

“Nerves, Li,” she murmured, in a convincing imitation of someone who'd just woken up from a deep and restful sleep. “It may be my first time going to London.”

“But it also may not.” Amber eyes held her gaze the moment she opened her eyes and squinted.

She yawned, stretching her arms and rotating her head, trying to ease the cramp in her neck.

“You've been out for three hours,” Syaoran said quietly. “Want to go over details, or are you still tired?”

“I'm fine,” Sakura said quickly, stuffing a fist onto her mouth to stop herself from yawning again. “Lay it on me.”

Syaoran's eyebrow quirked up fractionally, but he made no further comment as he reached for the folder he kept inside his jacket at all times. Sakura dimly wondered how much he could fit in his pockets before he flipped the folder open and removed a sheet of paper covered in his angular, uniform handwriting.

“We're heading to London, to neutralize the growing Aconite threat in Europe by taking out Hiirigawaza's main man there,” Syaoran explained, his words coming out so quickly that only Sakura could distinguish the individual words. Anyone else would have merely heard a slurred murmur of incomprehensible sounds. It was a trick they had been taught in training school. How to communicate private details in public without being overheard.

Sakura nodded, leaning closer to try and read what was written on Syaoran's paper. He obliged by holding the sheet over the armrests, so that she could look over his words comfortably.

“Hiirigawaza trusts very little,” he continued, in that slurred voice of his. “We're pretty sure that his entire European connections rest on the shoulders of this one man. He was a corporate giant in his day, but I think he's going to seed right now. He needs his black market connections to hoist him up in society. He's our target.”

“Name?” Sakura asked, her voice similarly slurred. Rather, she wasn't asking. She thought she knew who the man's name was, but just to make sure her hunch was correct -

“Keiro Tsukiyune,” Syaoran murmured, bringing the paper closer to Sakura, who leaned closer for a better look. They were now sitting shoulder to shoulder, their heads almost touching. Both of them, so engrossed in their work, didn't even realize just how close they were.

Sakura nodded, her face going grim.

“I see,” she said, breaking into a lapse of thought. So she had guessed correctly. They were going to London in order to – what was the word Syaoran had used? - _neutralize_ the Aconite threat. By either isolating Tsukiyune or killing him.

Sakura had tried both in the past before. It had left her with not-so-pretty memories, and even uglier scars. She had been hoping to avoid London for this particular reason, but since the CLA had come by and decided to give her a lift...

Did they know that she had tried to bring him down by herself? She doubted it. She knew that whatever she had done to him, Tsukiyune himself didn't even remember, thanks to a memory-lapse drug she had put him on. So obviously, the CLA couldn't know what she knew about him. Their information couldn't be as accurate as her own...

“The plan's simple for now,” Syaoran told her, frowning as she stared thughtfully at the paper. “There's a formal gathering tomorrow night. Tsukiyune will be there. We have to attend tomorrow and acquaint ourselves with him. Become a part of his -”

“Inner circle,” Sakura finished wearily. “Then we hope he invites us to dinner the next evening, where we take our chances with eliminating him from the picture once and for all.”

Syaoran glanced at her shrewdly.

“That was direct,” he said appraisingly. “More or less accurate, though.”

Sakura smiled a little. Her eyelids drooped down and suddenly, she was asleep again, her body slumping back against her seat.

The plane began to shake as it encountered turbulence over the Atlantic Ocean. Syaoran swore, fumbling for his seatbelt when he felt something come to rest against his shoulder.

It was Sakura's head.

He glanced at it for a moment before shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. Maybe it was a good thing she was asleep. It allowed him time to reflect. And reflection was something Syaoran had less time or patience to do these days.

Maybe it was partly because he was scared. He feared examining his feelings because he didn't know what he would find. But then again, Syaoran hadn't become the man he was by fearing the unknown. He knew himself so that he could control himself. And – despite his playful, teasing attitude toward the redhead nuzzled against his shoulder – Syaoran was a man of control. He knew where to draw the line.

Except for that one time...

Syaoran frowned as he remembered the first time he had met Sakura. During her first mission. As a rising Agent in the ranks of the CLA's reconnaissance force, it fell to him to train a graduate of field school. And he had been the lucky Agent chosen to train the infamous Kinomoto Sakura.

Even in her days as a student at field training school, Sakura had been well known throughout the entire CLA. Syaoran could easily recollect the awe that had surrounded talk of her, even among Agents senior to him. Well, he reasoned, what was there not to admire about Sakura? Easily one of the youngest students in her class, apparently the spitting image of both her parents rolled into one, she had already survived three assassination attempts by the Aconite mafia before entering training school.

Syaoran could remember the day all too clearly when Meiden informed him that he would be training Sakura during her first mission. He remembered scoffing and rolling his eyes, imagining what the sixteen-year-old Sakura would be like. He assumed she would be just like any other silly teenage girl, with nothing more than air in her head and a clout-bearing surname attached to her title. He remembered – not exactly _hating_ her, but growing irritated with every hushed word about her. The legendary golden girl of the CLA who had graduated at the top of every single one of her classes at the tender age of sixteen – matching a feat accomplished by only one other individual throughout CLA history. Syaoran himself.

So an unspoken rivalry developed, well before they met each other. And when they did, Syaoran _had_ to admit that he was surprised. Because Kinomoto Sakura wasn't like any other female he had encountered in his twenty one years of life. All he had ever learned to expect from women was sex and...just that. Sex. The way they flocked to him, even when he was in his coldest and most ruthless tempers. The way they melted when he turned on his charming mannerisms. The way he left them the next morning, bodily needs sated, head cleared and hand resting on the gun hidden in his inside jacket pocket. Ready to tackle the next mission the CLA threw his way.

But Sakura was different. He could feel it the moment they met...

* * *

**_Flashback_ **

It was a Sunday afternoon, as grey and drizzly as it ever got. Syaoran was focused on his laptop, carefully hacking a security system somewhere in Montenegro, or a country close to there. He had been so engrossed in his task, he hadn't even noticed that someone had been knocking insistently on his door for a period of about five minutes. Or maybe he had noticed, and simply hadn't bothered to answer the door. _Who comes calling on gloomy Sundays like this one anyway?_ he wondered, rolling his eyes and setting himself back on task.

A very loud cracking noise jarred his attention from his work entirely. The next thing he knew, he had jumped to his feet, glaring at a woman who was picking her way through the wreckage of his front door.

“You must be Li,” she said calmly, large green eyes surveying him coolly as she straightened herself in the foyer.

“Who the hell are you?” Syaoran demanded, none too cordially, as the petite redhead pulled off her coat. Almost automatically, his body arranged itself into a defensive stance.

The young woman raised both her eyebrows quizzically.

“You mean Meiden hasn't told you yet?” she asked, disappointment creeping into her voice. “I'm your partner for Montenegro. Kinomoto Sakura.”

Any feelings of surprise, shock, anger, or others, instantly vanished from Syaoran's mind as the woman – no – teenager casually hung her jacket in the walk-in closet by the door, and kicked the remnants of his front door shut. They fell to pieces again.

“Whoops,” Sakura muttered lightly, as Syaoran fixed her with a glare meant to kill.

“You kicked my front door in!” he accused, his voice dangerously sharp. When he used that tone around others, especially women, they coiled in fear and ran in the other direction.

He therefore got the shock of his life when Sakura threw him a glare almost as frightening as his own. Almost.

“You left me waiting outside for five minutes,” she countered, her voice just as cold as his. She made her way into the apartment noiselessly, her face grim and unduly unconcerned.

**_End Flashback_ **

* * *

From that moment on, Syaoran learned one very important thing about Kinomoto Sakura.

She had guts.

Unexpected, but a welcome change from the usual mess of drippy women he had previously indulged in. Sakura's backbone might have aroused him if he hadn't been so bitter about losing the upper hand in first impressions.

They embarked on their mission to Montenegro with no feelings toward the other short of irritable and apathetic. Syaoran was clearly the superior Agent of the pair, having five good years of experience under his belt, and lost no opportunity in harrassing his young partner psychologically. In time, Sakura came to fear her malicious amber-eyed partner, who was older than her, stronger than her, and had the grounds to do anything he wanted to her.

Syaoran sighed, his frown deepening as Sakura's head turned, so that her face was pressing into his shoulder. He couldn't remember what exactly had happened during that mission. It had been so long ago, all the events were a blur in his head that he had tried to erase repeatedly. Those memories were associated with failure, shame and weakness, and he didn't want to relive them.

But he remembered how his general contempt for the newly-turned seventeen-year-old slowly faded away to a sort of grudging respect. He respected her because throughout the entire mission (which was lengthy and complicated enough for an experienced Agent like him), she had maintained the tough, apathetic manner that she had displayed during their first meeting. He respected her because she obeyed him without question. He respected her because she feared him and still accepted his cruel, hurtful criticism wordlessly, without a word of complaint.

Then somehow, everything changed...

* * *

**Flashback**

It was a typical weekend evening. They were returning from an exhausting night of information-gathering (or _whoring around_ , as Sakura had called it scathingly) that had gone better than expected. All of a sudden, they found themselves under fire.

They got off alive. Sakura managed to get nothing more than a few superficial nicks and scrapes on her arms. Syaoran hadn't been so lucky. A bullet caught him in the small of his back, and it was lodged a good inch deep. Syaoran had been shot at before, but he had never gotten a bullet so close to anything vital. This bullet was about two inches away from his spine.

Somehow, he and Sakura got back to their residence. The first thing Syaoran did was shut himself in his room and examine the wound. It was a futile attempt, really. Even if he battled the dizzying waves of pain emanating from his bullet wound, he couldn't twist himself around to perform the necessary surgery on his back. He was flexible and powerful, but he was no gymnast.

At that moment, Sakura chose to barge into his room. The doorknob looked curiously loose as she placed a kit of some sort on the counter next to his bed.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered curtly.

Syaoran gave her an incredulous look. His hands remained stubbornly still.

“Why?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly from the pain. He may have received a fatal wound, but he was not stripping down in front of Sakura and allowing her to tend to his wound. That was a blow to his pride he didn't think he would ever recover from -

Sakura let out an aggravated growl before stepping up to him and violently undoing the buttons on his expensive shirt.

“You are so stupid,” she muttered through her teeth as her fingers undid the very last button on his shirt. “Do you honestly think that by pretending nothing's wrong, your wound's going to go away on its own?”

She ripped the shirt off of him, her eyes blazing.

“Get onto the bed,” she ordered, her voice similar to Syaoran's when he didn't want to be taken lightly.

Syaoran obeyed. The entire situation would have been quite erotic, if it hadn't been for the dark look on Sakura's face.

“On your stomach.”

Syaoran bit back a bitter retort before grimacing and obliging, stretching himself out on the bedcovers. Exposing the wound to Sakura, who was fiddling around with the contents of the first aid box.

Syaoran winced as she slammed the first aid kit back onto the bedside table, wondering what it would be like to have an enraged Sakura to administer treatment for his wound. She was so violent already...

But when she kneeled by the bed and spoke, her voice was almost gentle.

“I don't have anaesthesia,” she said in a low voice. “This is going to hurt a lot.”

Syaoran nodded, feeling oddly feverish as the frigid night air tingled his burning body. His back was in agony, a burning yet numb sensation that left him feeling more vulnerable than he had ever felt in his life. He wished that Sakura couldn't see him in his weakened state. He was worried that she might have chosen that particular moment to get back at him for his months and months of deliberate cruelty...

But when her fingers brushed his back, they were about as soft as her voice. He shuddered as he felt searing pain lance through his lower back. Almost immediately, it was alleviated by something cool and soothing, placed right against his wound.

He raised his red-rimmed eyes to see Sakura delicately drop something into a bowl of water with a pair of tweezers. Focusing on it, he realized it was the bullet.

“That was fast,” he said, his voice hoarse from pain.

Sakura smiled grimly.

“I have to stitch the wound closed,” she informed him. “You're lucky it didn't get infected.”

Syaoran let out a weak chuckle that sounded more derisive than it did mirthful. Sakura's hands lightly skimmed his bare back and removed the soothing poultice from the gaping wound. Her fingertips gently massaged the feeling back into his numb skin. Syaoran bit back a groan as her butterfly-light touch countered the pain of the torn flesh in his back.

Then, there was more burning pain. He assumed Sakura was sewing the wound shut. She was bent over, her fingers working so quickly yet so carefully...she was so close, he could feel her warm shallow breathing on his skin.

It seemed like he lay there for an eternity, Sakura cautiously sewing the torn ends of his skin shut. There was a curious sensation eating away in his gut that didn't seem to have anything to do with the bullet wound.

All thought vanished from his head when Sakura pulled the thread taut, knotted it, and leaned in closer to bite the thread free. Her face was so close to his skin, he could feel strands of her hair lazily grazing the burning flesh of his back.

“Done,” she whispered, tossing the needle and thread into the bowl containing the bullet. She placed a soaked towel on top of his wound and stood up. Her face was austere again, as grim and impassive as always.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone, the door swinging noiselessly on its hinges in her wake. Syaoran lay there, his thoughts swirling. All he could think of was Sakura. Her apathy. Her anger. Her gentleness. The caress of her fingers on his bare back -

He couldn't believe himself when he found himself longing for her to come back. To feel the touch of her hands against his skin once more...

As if in answer to his thoughts, Sakura returned, her hands washed and soiled utensils dispensed accordingly. She knelt by the bed again, removing the towel gently. She dressed the wound deftly and efficiently.

“It'll hurt for a few days,” she told him simply. “That went in deep.”

She never spoke more than necessary, having adapted herself to his taste for absolute silence. Even after removing the towel and dressing his wound, she retreated from him, keeping a good arm's-length distance between them. She feared him, he realized. And that realization had never made him feel more...guilty?

He tried to get up, but the wound, though dressed, was still fresh. He collapsed back onto the bed, a hiss of pain escaping his lips.

Sakura was by his side in a flash.

“Are you stupid?” she demanded flatly, her green eyes boring into his. “The last thing we need is for this to get worse. Stop being an ass and get some rest.”

She made to get away, but in a flash, his right hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him.

She gasped as his hazy eyes pierced her own.

“Thank you...” he murmured. “For...everything...”

Sakura was speechless. She had known Syaoran Li for over six months, and not once in that time period had he shown a fraction of the gratitude he was showing now. Even though she had gotten them out of worse scrapes than this. This was nothing. So why – why was he looking at her like that?

“It's nothing,” she said dismissively, her brusque voice masking the unnatural thumping of her heart. “You'd do the same for me. I hope.”

She was nervous. Syaoran Li intimidated her in a way no other man had ever intimidated her before. Maybe it was because they were partners in her first experience as a professional Agent, or maybe because he was the one who treated her more ruthlessly than her enemies, or maybe it was because of the effect he could have on her sometimes. He was four years older than her, stronger than her, had more experience than her in wordly matters... He was tall and he was toned and he was so deliciously handsome and now he was lying in front of her, weakened and shirtless, with his eyes staring into hers, alive with something she couldn't place. His hand, though cold and clammy, was still closed tightly around her own wrist, and she was inches away from him. She was feeling slightly feverish. Her knees were shaking.

_Control!_ Her mind screamed at her, putting her back on her guard. _Li is a professional Agent assigned to train you. Nothing more._

Nothing more...

“Sakura?” Syaoran breathed. The name sounded alien coming from his lips. Usually, when he addressed her, it was in a degrading manner, such as “hey” or “you” or “girl”. Sometimes, if he was feeling civil, he would address her as “Kinomoto”, but those cases were rare.

But hearing her name in his voice – his weak, strained voice – it drove her mad. She was losing control. She knew she was. Any moment now, Li would snap out of his reverie and jeer at her for being so naïve and hopeless...

But instead, he was drawing her close to him. He propped himself up gingerly on one elbow, bringing her face nearer to his. Their breaths were shallow and uneven as they stared at each other, not really understanding what they were doing...

Syaoran exhaled sharply.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered before crushing his lips to hers.

**_End Flashback_ **

* * *

_It was a bit of a crappy first kiss_ , Syaoran thought to himself, absently stroking Sakura's hair.

But from that point onward, there was no turning back. They could have simply ignored what had happened, and pretended that the moment never existed. But Sakura stayed with him the whole night, her gentle fingers caressing his back, soothing him. They stayed in complete silence. In the morning, there would be time for words.

And many words there were. Syaoran had been astonished to discover that Sakura hadn't harboured any real grudge toward him for tormenting her those past months. Sakura had been shocked to discover that there was no real contempt in Syaoran's heart for her, and even more so to discover that Syaoran possessed a heart and human feelings. She had seen him with other women: the charming, carefully flattering stranger, too perfect to be true. But she knew that was a guise he only put on to achieve his ends, which in turn were information or sex. Sometimes both.

Naturally, it turned her world upside-down to learn that there was a side of Syaoran that cared. A side of Syaoran that could experience human emotions and share them with her. A Syaoran who could talk and laugh and kiss in a way that made her hair stand on end...

Syaoran sighed, wishing that they hadn't been quite so preoccupied with each other at the time. Maybe then, the mission wouldn't have tilted so heavily against them and the CLA wouldn't have had to rescue them from a tight situation. He hated himself for abandoning Sakura at her hour of need, but he forced himself to do it. Because he knew that by betraying her this once, he was actually saving her. And one day, she would understand why he did what he did. No matter if that day came after five, ten or fifty years.

He glaced at her, tranquilly asleep against his shoulder.

All he had to do was wait...

* * *

“Had a nice nap?” Syaoran asked conversationally as they made their way into a taxi at Heathrow Airport.

Sakura stifled a yawn.

“Good enough, thanks,” she said, uncharacteristically courteous.

“Good to know,” Syaoran said, his trademark smirk playing across his lips. “Because we're not going to be getting much _sleep_ these next few days, now are we?”

Sakura frowned at the suggestiveness of his words. He made it sound like they'd be doing _more_ than just planning their next moves -

“Shut up,” she told him, her frown deepening.

Syaoran's smirk only widened, but he complied as they stepped into the cloudy London outdoors.

“Taxi?” Sakura asked.

Syaoran shook his head.

“I think the Association's sending us a small something...”

His voice trailed off as his eyes lingered on a beautiful silver Boxster, parked just off the curb.

“I wonder...” he muttered, grabbing a set of keys from his jacket pocket (Sakura rolled her eyes) and pressed the _Unlock_ button.

The Porsche's headlights sprang to life as the locks undid themselves.

“Cool,” Syaoran said with a grin. “I've always wanted to try one of these.”

“Try _driving_ one of these,” Sakura corrected, though there was a small smile on her face.

“Whatever,” Syaoran replied flippantly, strolling over to the car and dumping a suitcase into the trunk. “Watch for it, the space is a bit cramped here,” he warned to Sakura, who was carrying her own suitcase. He took it from her, managed to fit it into the trunk and shut the door. He climbed into the driver's seat. Moments later, Sakura slid into the passenger's seat beside him.

He glanced at her, hands on the wheel. He was positively beaming.

_Okayy..._ Sakura thought to herself, doing up her seatbelt.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To our apartment,” Syaoran replied. “It shouldn't be too far away from here.”

Sakura nodded.

“Okay.”

The drive to the apartment was short and uneventful. They didn't say much. Syaoran kept his eyes trained on the road, and Sakura stared out the window, the London cityscape looking ominously familiar to her...

All too soon, Syaoran slowed the Porsche to a stop.

“Here we are!” he announced. “Next stop: apartment.”

Sakura grimaced as she undid her seatbelt.

“Stop being so cheerful,” she admonished, scowling. “It's unnatural.”

Syaoran raised both eyebrows and let out a small chuckle as they got out of the car and made their way to the double doors, luggage in hand. A porter was there to park their car. Syaoran surrendered the Porsche's keys, albeit rather reluctantly.

All the arrangements for their stay had been made earlier, so the two of them merely walked across the lobby and pressed the elevator button.

“What floor are we on?” Sakura asked.

“Twenty,” Syaoran replied. “So we get to travel twenty floors in a tiny elevator... _alone_.”

Sakura smiled at him icily.

“I'm still not willing,” she told him matter-of-factly before the elevator doors opened.

Evidently, the memory of his rather humiliating rejection the night before was still fresh in Syaoran's mind, because as he stepped into the elevator after her, he wore a dark look on his face. He didn't say a word the long flight up, and Sakura began to wonder if she regretted her words. Then, she cleared her head of all thoughts when the elevator stopped and opened at floor twenty.

“We're in 2010,” Syaoran said quietly. They looked around. Flat 2010 was down the hall, to the right. They made their way there earnestly, both eager for a change of clothing and a nap. However, when Syaoran unlocked the door and the both of them stepped into the cozy flat, they realized something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Sakura's mouth dropped as she dropped her suitcase and walked around the entire flat, peering into each and every doorway. Finally, she stopped in the middle of the living room and faced an amused Syaoran despairingly.

“ _Why_ is it that in this entire giant flat...” she began desperately, “... _there only one bedroom_?!”

* * *


	8. Occupied

 

_**chapter vii.** occupied_

* * *

Syaoran was clearly more than a little amused as he chose his answer carefully.

“When you say one _bedroom,_ ” he began leisurely, closing the door behind him and walking into the flat, “do you mean to say one _bedroom_? Or one _bed_ , more specifically?”

“ _What do you think_?!” Sakura snapped back, hands on her waist.

Syaoran fought to keep the grin from spreading across his face. He failed, so he turned away so that she couldn't see it.

“Well...”

“This is all your fault!” Sakura accused the back of his head. “I should have _known_ you were just looking for an excuse to – to -”

“To what, exactly?” Syaoran asked, an edge coming into his voice as he turned around to face Sakura again, all traces of mirth gone from his face. “Don't you think I've got a job to do too? Or do you think I'm _so_ helplessly besotted by you that I'm willing to throw aside my entire career just so that I can fuck you again?”

“No, but that was the eventual plan, wasn't it?” Sakura shot back, her voice skyrocketing.

A frosty silence reigned in the flat. Syaoran stood, rooted to the spot while Sakura collapsed onto the small armchair by her side.

“Look...” Syaoran said eventually, breaking the silence. “Despite what you think of me, I wouldn't do something like that – are you even listening to me?”

Sakura sat in the chair, arms crossed over her chest and eyes fixed stubbornly on the wall opposite her. If she absorbed any of what Syaoran was saying, she gave no outward indication of it.

Syaoran sighed heavily as he stepped in front of the armchair and kneeled in front of her, so that they were eye to eye.

“Listen to me, Ying Fa,” he said seriously, and Sakura met his eyes unwillingly. “You know me better than that. I _know_ you know me better than that. I wouldn't do anything like that unless you wanted me to.”

Sakura blinked. Syaoran took it as a hint that she was listening, albeit reluctantly.

“And getting back on track,” he continued slowly, his eyes fixed on hers so that she couldn't escape his gaze, “you know perfectly well that fixing accomodation isn't left to me. That falls to the technicians.”

“I _know_ it does,” Sakura muttered, her face darkening.

“Well, then I guess I'm off the hook for now,” Syaoran said brightly, getting up and walking over to the other side of the room, examining the flat. “And as for the bed – uh – we'll figure something out about that.”

“You're _positive_ that you had absolutely _nothing_ to do with this?” Sakura said in response, her large eyes fixed on Syaoran reproachfully.

Syaoran sighed again, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“I swear that I knew absolutely nothing about this until I stepped in here not five minutes ago,” he assured her patiently. “Believe me. This whole one-bed situation is as much a nuisance to me as it is to you.”

Sakura raised her eyebrows.

“Liar,” she said finally.

“I'm not lying,” Syaoran defended himself, though his lips had curved into a half smile. “Just think about it. You and I, in one bed. So close, yet so far...I think I'd lose my mind if I ever found myself in that situation!”

“Because you have less control on your hormones than a teenager,” Sakura remarked with a huff, rising to her feet. Her face was slightly pinker than before.

Syaoran lifted an eyebrow fractionally.

“I'm not _that_ desperate,” he said, rather bluntly. Then changing the subject, he continued on. “So, here's what we do. We ignore the one-bed dilemma until it's significantly closer to bedtime. In the meantime, you go change and shower while I unpack my things. Then, I'll go change and shower while you unpack _your_ things. Then, we discuss details. Sound good?”

Sakura shrugged. “Sure.”

She walked past him, her hand brushing against his sleeve. The moment disappeared as she picked up her suitcase and walked into the bedroom. Syaoran allowed her five minutes of privacy before he heard the bathroom door open and close. Then, he picked up his own suitcase and stepped into the bedroom.

It was a nice room, he decided. Plain, yet comfortable and homely, like the rest of the flat. The floor was covered with a thick white carpet, matching the white of the ceiling. The walls were painted a pale blue, and there was a large bay window on the wall opposite the door. The room was rather small though, he noted. He barely had room to put his suitcase on the ground. The entire floor space seemed to be taken up by the bed and the wardrobe. He glanced at the floor and sighed.

Even Sakura wouldn't have room to sleep on the floor. Not that he'd let her, of course. At times, Syaoran's manners got the best of him, allowing him to behave like the perfect gentleman. But he _definitely_ didn't have room to sleep on the ground...

He sighed, opening his suitcase. There wasn't much in it, apart from clothes, a box of essentials, a first-aid kit and his laptop. He hung a few odds and ends in the wardrobe, careful not to take up too much room. Plugging his laptop into the wall, he activated the locator, broadcasting a signal to CLA Headquarters. That way, the other Commanders would be spared from trying to contact them and giving away their location, as the locator signal was untraceable, but voice patterns could be easily recognized and followed.

The bathroom door opened. Syaoran didn't turn around. He expected that nothing would enrage his fiery-tempered partner more than if he spotted her dripping wet and in nothing more than a bathrobe.

He didn't hear her walk into the room. Or anywhere else.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, still facing his laptop.

“A – uh – shirt,” came Sakura's hesitant response. Syaoran's eyes widened before travelling to the bed, where a half-folded T-shirt lay.

“The one on the bed?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

“Yes, please...” Sakura said, rather vulnerably. Syaoran picked up the shirt and turned to face the bathroom door. It was open halfway. To his relief, Sakura had wrapped her bathrobe tight around herself, and was gazing at him in a most unsettling way.

“Here,” he said, throwing the shirt into the air, and she caught it.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. There was still a pink flush on her cheeks.

“Er – no problem,” Syaoran answered stiffly, turning around and making his way back into the bedroom. Of all the awkward situations...

Presently, he heard the bathroom door close and he sank onto the bed, rolling his head back to face the ceiling. At least the bed was big, he thought subconsciously. Enough for the two of them to have room for personal space...

The bathroom door opened again, and he heard quick footsteps announce Sakura's presence. He glanced up to see her hanging her damp bathrobe in the wardrobe, her wet hair leaving damp spots on the back of her pale pink shirt.

“Sorry about that,” she said, straightening up and facing him. “I've just gotten so used to staying alone...”

Syaoran shook his head.

“It's okay,” he told her, unusually gentle. Sakura gave him a confused look as he escaped into the bathroom.

Staying with her was harder than he'd anticipated...

* * *

“We're secure, right?”

Syaoran rolled his eyes and pointed to a small green rectangular device attached to the locator plugged into the wall.

“We're secure,” he answered.

“Just checking,” Sakura recovered feebly. She glanced at the small green device sceptically. The wonders of technology. That little thing could prevent their flat from being bugged, wired or spied on in any way. Amazing what the CLA laboratories could develop.

“Okay,” Syaoran began. He set his file down on the bed and emptied its contents over the smooth patterned sheets. “That's what the Association thinks we need for this assignment.”

Sakura glanced at the printouts with raised eyebrows.

“Blueprints?” she murmured, picking a sheet delicately and examining it closely. “Of Tsukiyune's _home_?”

Syaoran's eyes narrowed.

“How do you know that was of his home?” he asked suspiciously. “There aren't any labels on those.”

Sakura froze.

“Lucky guess?” she suggested tentatively. _Shit. Me and my big mouth..._

“Nice try,” Syaoran told her, his eyes boring into hers as though he was trying to read her mind (and succeeding). “I happen to be a little bit smarter than that.”

_Yeah, I know_ , Sakura thought to herself irately. _Too bad for me..._

He didn't even have to bother asking again. There was a definite aura of authority around him, and Sakura knew that when he was in charge like he was now, he had zero tolerance for nonsense.

“I've tried it before,” she said in a defeated voice.

Silence met her ears.

“You know, eliminating Tsukiyune from the grand scheme of things?” she continued when Syaoran didn't appear to understand what she said.

“You tried to murder him?” Syaoran asked carefully, disbelief written all over his features.

“Well...that was the backup plan,” Sakura explained, her fingers tracing a pattern on the bedcover.

“So there was another plan,” Syaoran commented, his voice cool and toneless. “Both of which didn't work out, I presume?”

Sakura nodded, eyes downcast.

“I met Keiro Tsukiyune while I was in disguise,” she said quietly. Syaoran had to strain his ears in order to hear her. “I figured the best way to isolate him from his sponsors was to cast aspersions on his credibility -”

“How?” Syaoran interrupted.

“I drugged him,” Sakura answered coolly. “I had him on a few mixes of mine that played havoc with his mind.”

“For how long?”

Sakura shrugged. “Two weeks, I think.”

“Two weeks?” Syaoran repeated. “And did your _mixes_ require daily dosages? I'm guessing they did.”

“Congratulations,” Sakura told him acidly.

“How'd you accomplish _that_?” Syaoran asked conversationally. There was a cold look in his eyes, as though he already knew the answer. “Slipping noxious drugs into his system every single day for fourteen days straight, I mean?”

“Not fourteen straight days,” Sakura muttered, avoiding the question. “I think I missed a day because of...complications. After that, things got messy. Very messy.”

“You didn't answer my question,” Syaoran pointed out. “How did you manage to get your drugs into his system when he's constantly behind those four mountains of muscle called _bodyguards_?”

“Um,” Sakura said blankly, “I was his mistress for a while -”

“ _Ah_ ,” Syaoran said, giving her a dirty look. Were his eyes _angry_ , or was she misreading them?

“So I had access to his house,” Sakura continued quickly. “It wasn't difficult for me to slip things in his food and drinks, as he was constantly ordering me around. Plus, Tsukiyune's heavy into real drugs, so I doubted he'd notice whether he was on a high or not -”

“And even if he did notice, he had an excellent whore in his house to get his mind off things,” Syaoran cut in sourly.

Sakura blinked and glared at him.

“What's it to you?” she demanded. “You didn't seem to have a problem using me to get _pillow secrets_ back when I was seventeen. Remember those days?”

“That was different -” Syaoran argued, but Sakura cut him off.

“How was it different?” she countered, sparks dancing dangerously in her eyes as she spoke. “It was to get information, wasn't it?”

“ _Information_ ,” Syaoran said with an odd cough. “I see.”

“That's funny, coming from you,” Sakura retorted, her voice frigid. “Weren't you the one who taught me how to use sex to get information in the first place? Or maybe it's upsetting you because I didn't do it _on your orders_?”

“Enough,” Syaoran said coldly, and Sakura was instantly reminded of the frigid man she had been partnered with for the first six months of her Agent life.

“Moving on,” Sakura said, giving him a dirty look. “I had him on drugs for about two weeks, right in the middle of a big international conference. To make a long story short, he made a fool of himself and disgraced himself in front of all his associates. He lost a lot of support.”

“Hm.”

“It would have worked, but then I got caught,” Sakura said darkly. “He saw me slip something into his drink and – yeah, I had to resort to plan B in order to get myself out alive.”

“Which didn't work,” Syaoran pointed out.

“Well, at least I got out alive,” Sakura amended. “But the bullet missed. It got his shoulder instead of his heart. His right arm is paralyzed now, did you hear?”

“Nice handiwork,” Syaoran commented, his lip curling. “I still don't get how it's supposed to help us, seeing as he knows what you look like.”

Sakura let out a scoff.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I was in disguise the whole time. And then those drugs had a memory lapse on them. If his mind retained the capacity to think and recollect, he still shouldn't be able to remember what I did to him. What I looked like, what my voice sounded like... And even if he did, I disguised myself so well, my mother wouldn't have been able to recognize me.”

There was an awkward silence. Sakura waited for Syaoran's scathing response. _You don't_ have _a mother..._

But he didn't say anything of the sort.

“Okay, so what's your plan?” Syaoran asked, disregarding her earlier words.

Sakura shrugged.

“For now, it'll be the same as what you originally intended to do,” she told him. “We need to go to the gathering tomorrow evening. I have to check whether he's the same as before, or whether he's suffered brain damage. Whether he's gained support or if he's still hanging by a thread. I have to – _we_ have to test the waters before making any further moves.”

“Does he have any dangerous traits?” Syaoran inquired, glancing at a sheet with Keiro Tsukiyune's headshot and data printed on it.

Sakura thought for a moment.

“Well apart from owing a multi-million pound debt to various drug dealers in Europe and squaring Aconite mafia connections,” she began leisurely, “he's also very impulsive, very violent, and _very_ possessive.”

“Possessive?” The last word caught Syaoran's attention. “How so?”

Sakura smiled a wintry smile.

“He doesn't like sharing,” she informed him. “He threw a few parties while I was his mistress. You know, to try show me off? One of his associates tried to – you know – get a little more friendly than he ought to have. Tsukiyune went _ballistic_.”

“Really?” Syaoran asked thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Sakura said, frowning. “He nearly murdered the man on the spot, and kept me glued to his hip for the rest of the evening.”

She didn't miss the crafty gleam in Syaoran's eyes as he stared thoughtfully at her.

“What the hell are you planning, Li?” she spat, clearly unsettled.

“He seems to be the jealous type, doesn't he?” Syaoran mused slowly, his chin resting against the heel of his palm.

“Seems to?” Sakura echoed dryly. “Understatement of the year. What are you playing at?”

His eyes glittered.

“Wear the same disguise you did when you were with him,” he suggested. “If he doesn't recognize you, then we'll know just how well your memory lapse drugs worked.”

“Are you out of your mind, Li?” Sakura yelped. “What if he _does_ recognize me? He'll _kill_ both of us!”

“No he won't,” Syaoran said patiently, clearly enjoying the nearly-panicked expression on Sakura's face. “If he recognizes you – which he shouldn't – then he won't have any proof. You'll have documents on your person proving you to be Maeda Kasumi. All he'll see is someone who _looks_ a lot like the mistress who tried killing him.”

“ _So what's your point_?” Sakura hissed. “If he doesn't recognize me, then I might as well have not disguised myself at all. If he does recognize me, he'll just be driven crazy for no reason...”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Syaoran breathed. “Don't you get it? If he looks at your face and believes you to be – what was your name when you were disguised as his mistress?”

“Mizune Megumi,” Sakura answered stiffly, not liking Syaoran's plan one bit.

“Mizune Megumi,” Syaoran repeated, committing it to memory. “Yes, if he sees you tomorrow and identifies you as Mizune Megumi, it would drive him up the wall, wouldn't it?”

“Yes,” Sakura said slowly.

“He'd try attack you, wouldn't he?” Syaoran continued.

“Following the patterns of evidence, I'm fairly sure he would,” Sakura replied feebly.

“So he'll try attack someone he thinks is Mizune Megumi,” Syaoran explained earnestly. “But you'll be there as Maeda Kasumi, won't you?”

“You're trying to bring down his credibility again, aren't you?” Sakura queried, finally grasping Syaoran's plan. “If he tries attacking Kasumi, accusing her of being Mizune Megumi, when there's clear evidence that she _isn't_ , it'll make Tsukiyune appear insane.”

“Caught on at last,” Syaoran sighed. “It's an advantageous situation for us. Either he doesn't recognize you, in which case nothing happens, or he does recognize you, and plays right into our hands.”

Sakura glanced at him, reluctant appraisal in her eyes.

“It's a good plan,” she said, rather grudgingly. “Although I don't like it very much. So many things could go wrong.”

Syaoran snorted.

“Like you've never been on the field when things go wrong,” he countered scathingly.

Sakura blinked, her mouth set in a grim line.

“You're right,” she said abruptly. “So, I guess I have to get my old disguise out.”

“It'll be interesting to see,” Syaoran said, gathering all the printouts and arranging them neatly in his folder. “What will you be wearing there?”

Sakura shrugged.

“I don't know,” she said, waving a hand toward the wardrobe. “Something in there, hopefully.”

Syaoran stared at her incredulously.

“You mean you plan to attend one of London's most elite social gatherings in a _cocktail_ dress?” he demanded, sliding the folder into the pocket of his jacket, now hanging by the door.

“Hey, I've been to gatherings in those before,” Sakura pointed out crossly. “I got along fine.”

“That was because you weren't ever an invitee,” Syaoran reminded her patiently, standing up. “Nothing you have in there is going to work.”

“How do you know -” Sakura began and then fell silent, remembering that he had indeed gotten a thorough examination of her closet the night before, while helping her pack. “Fine. What do you propose we do?”

Syaoran smiled mirthlessly.

“We're in London. You're a woman. Put two and two together.”

Sakura's mind drew a blank. _London. Woman. Two and two together?_

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Li,” she said blankly. “It would make things a bit easier if I could get a new dress -”

“That's precisely what I meant!” Syaoran snapped.

Sakura's mouth dropped.

“Get a new dress?” she repeated. “What does that have to do with being in London and me being a woman?”

“Shopping?” Syaoran suggested, his voice laden with sarcasm. “You know? You women, always ecstatic about shopping, and London being one of Europe's fashion capitals?”

“For your information, I hate shopping,” Sakura said bluntly, making a face. “I never set a foot in a mall until I turned eighteen and was out in the world by myself. I couldn't shop to save my life.”

She faced him curiously.

“How do _you_ know so much about all this, anyway?” she asked him suspiciously.

Syaoran coughed.

“Try growing up with four sisters,” he told her darkly. “It's impossible _not_ to know all about it.”

Sakura rolled her eyes.

“Typical,” she snorted. “Always blaming it on the sisters.”

He glared at her. “Shut up.”

_Shutting_ , Sakura thought, her mouth obediently shut.

He didn't even spare her a glance as he headed to the wardrobe and opened the doors.

“Get changed,” he ordered, rummaging through it. “We have a _lot_ of work to do...”

Sakura groaned.

* * *

“Li, it looks like it's about to rain.”

Syaoran glanced up at the dull London sky, already teeming with forbidding grey clouds. He shrugged.

“So?”

Sakura rolled her eyes as they continued walking down Old Bond Street. The neat road was lined with classic European-style shops boasting international designer names and well-dressed mannequin displays. It was a shopaholic's dream come true.

_Unfortunately, I don't happen to fit into that category_ , Sakura thought to herself grimly, passing a heavily furnished Gucci window. She looked at the very pretty (and obviously _very_ painful) shoes on display, and tried to imagine herself walking in them.

_Okay_ , Sakura thought to herself as they passed by, _I'm no stranger to painful shoes, but still...why would I want them of my own free will? That's sheer stupidity!_

“There should be something good in here,” Syaoran said after a while, pointing to a Chanel shop across the road.

Sakura glanced at the window display. There were a few very suave mannequins there, dressed in Chanel's best suits and gowns. She couldn't imagine herself wearing one of them, but she wasn't about to object. Large raindrops had started falling from the sky, motivating Syaoran to grab her hand and lead her into the shop.

They were greeted by a very well-dressed woman who looked as though she belonged on the runway rather than in the shop, beautiful as it was. Syaoran politely declined any assistance while Sakura examined the tips of her shoes interestedly.

The woman's face fell slightly.

“Oh,” she said, before her face brightened. “Well, it's probably something you'd like to get your wife personally, isn't it?”

_Wife_... Sakura thought, inwardly grimacing. Outwardly, she met the woman's eyes and smiled charmingly.

“I have to take advantage of the days when he's willing to spend anything,” she said as sweetly as she could, feeling a stab of grim satisfaction as Syaoran's smirk hitched a little.

The woman laughed.

“You two have fun, then!” she called, walking away. “If you need any help, just let me know. My name's Sandra.”

And off went Sandra-the-saleslady.

Sakura shook her head as she made her way into the shop.

“I had no idea people at Chanel were so _friendly_ ,” she muttered, looking around her. The entire place had an elevated, almost haughty air to it. It definitely did not seem accomodating to the bulk of the crowd.

“It's because you look like you'll be making a purchase,” Syaoran informed her curtly. “Otherwise they wouldn't bother.”

“How can they tell?” Sakura couldn't help asking as they made their way through the shop, passing the overpriced formal business attire and handbags. “Did you happen to stick a sign anywhere on my person that reads ' _May be making purchases_ '?”

“Hmm, as a matter of fact, I did,” Syaoran replied sarcastically. “Right on the seat of your -”

He neatly blocked a swift uppercut to the arm, trapping Sakura's fist in his hand effortlessly.

“You're losing your touch, Ying Fa,” he commented, releasing her hand.

“As if,” Sakura snorted, rubbing her hands vigourously. “You honestly thought that was the best I could do?”

“No,” Syaoran admitted, pausing as they reached a brightly lit room where all the gowns hung. “But that only makes me wonder why you went easy on me there. Did you perhaps feel sorry for me, or...”

He paused, examining a mannequin sporting a flowing white gown.

“Or what?” Sakura snapped. She followed his gaze, staring at the gown with its plunging neckline and extravagantly low-cut back. “I am _not_ wearing that!”

“Of course you're not,” Syaoran retorted dismissively, walking past it. “That back is entirely too big. You'd look like a prude in it.”

“A _prude_?” Sakura sputtered. She caught up to him, busily rummaging through the racks of dresses. He picked one and held it up, examining it. Finally, he thrust it in Sakura's arms.

“You can start by trying that one on,” he said coolly.

Sakura's mouth dropped open in protest, but suddenly another saleslady sporting a giant smile appeared out of nowhere.

“Is everything alright here?” she asked, beaming.

“Oh yes,” Syaoran told her smoothly. “I was just persuading my wife to try on one of these. We have a big party to go to and I want her to – you know – _stand out_.”

He smirked. Sakura swore she saw hearts pop out of the saleslady's eyes and rolled her eyes.

“Well, I'll tell you, that's a very pretty gown you have there,” she gushed, pointing to the dress in Sakura's hands. “It's one-of-a-kind, just off the Summer 2007 collection. You'll look _gorgeous_ in it! Did your husband pick it out for you? He has _excellent_ taste. A rare thing in men nowadays...”

Sakura gave the saleslady a genuine (yet fake) smile, shared a loving (otherwise murderous) glance with her “husband” and allowed herself to be ushered into the fitting room. She stripped out of her rain-dampened outerwear and struggled into the gown. Finally, opening the door, she walked out to meet the saleslady's appreciative eyes – and Syaoran's critical ones.

“I don't think the colour suits her,” he said, giving her a swift onceover. “And it makes her look kind of – shapeless.” The corners of his mouth tilted.

_Shapeless_! Sakura wanted to shriek. But unfortunately, they were in the presence of a third party who believed them to be a newly wedded couple head over heels in love with each other. As much as the notion sent butterflies (of _nausea_ , she told herself firmly) careening around in her stomach, she wasn't going to be the one to blow their cover, no matter how much of a beating her ego took.

She turned and glanced at herself in the mirror. True, the solid black fabric didn't do much for her pale complexion, save for making her look like a mortician's daughter. The dress itself was quite pretty, Sakura admitted grudgingly, with its one flower-bedecked strap, white-embroidered neckline, and asymmetrically-cut skirt. It just didn't suit her. The fall of the dress made her look almost rectangular in shape. Which evidently wasn't the look Syaoran was going for.

“I believe you're right,” Sakura conceded, her voice viciously sweet. “Why don't you go choose another one, _dear_?”

Syaoran grinned as he turned to the racks and pulled another dress out. He approached her, pressing it softly into her hands.

“Thanks for playing along,” he muttered, leaning in close so that his mouth barely tickled her ear. “But in the future, you should try make your affectionate nicknames sound less – _violent_.”

He stepped back.

Sakura was about to step into the fitting room again when her eyes fell upon the dress he had handed her. Frowning, she turned to face Syaoran, whose face had resumed its impassive, unperturbed expression.

“Darling, this is from the Cruise collection...” she said, trying for a laugh as she met his eyes threateningly. “And it's _see-through_.”

Syaoran cocked an eyebrow mischievously.

“Well, that would certainly make you stand out,” he offered, before Sakura's face started mottling dangerously. “Okay! It was a joke! Um...why don't you go pick one you like?”

Sakura's face fell.

“Me?”

“Of course,” Syaoran said encouragingly. “Go on...”

Sakura glared daggers at him as the saleslady approached them.

“Is anything wrong?”

Sakura immediately changed her expression, to Syaoran's amusement.

“Oh, not at all,” she said. “Taro suggested I wear _this_ to the party. I nearly died laughing.”

The woman's eyes grew round.

“Oh!” she said, clearly at a loss of what to say to the sheer grey dress in Sakura's hands. “Um, what a sense of humour he has!”

“I'll just...take a look around,” Sakura said, suppressing the urge to beat the infuriating smirk off of Syaoran's amused face.

She returned a quarter of an hour later with no less than twelve dresses in her hands.

“Well!” the saleslady started. “I'm sure at least _one_ of those will work.”

“I wouldn't know...” Sakura said, heading into the fitting room. “Taro's a very picky man.”

“Indeed,” came Syaoran's voice as she swung the door closed. “One may wonder why I married you at all.”

Sakura let out a high silvery laugh while glaring daggers at the wall and muttering vicious insults under her breath so that only she could hear.

* * *

“How's this -?”

“No.”

Sakura sighed, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She actually liked the white gown, with its black spaghetti straps, intricate black embroidery and built ruffled skirt. Unfortunately, Syaoran seemed to think otherwise.

“But I like it,” she complained, turning to view herself at different angles.

“I like it too,” Syaoran said wearily, getting up and standing behind her. “But...I don't know...”

“What's wrong with it?” Sakura demanded. She was exhausted. They were now at Badgley Mischka, having exhausted Chanel, Versace, Dolce and Gabbana, Miu Miu, and countless other designer shops that Sakura had never even heard of before. Yet still...no luck. Syaoran was never satisfied.

Syaoran shrugged.

“You're not...standing out...” he trailed off uncertainly.

Sakura nearly lost it then.

“To hell with standing out!” she whispered harshly. “I'm tired and I'm sick of this. Why can't we just call it a day and move on?”

Syaoran's attention was diverted as he turned on his heel and rummaged through yet another rack. Seconds later, he pulled out something, which he stared at for a full ten seconds before nodding.

“This should work,” he said.

Sakura rolled her eyes.

“You said the same thing for the dress before...and the one before that...and the one before that...and the -”

She didn't get any further, because Syaoran had pressed the dress in her hands and bodily pushed her into the fitting room.

“And don't come out until you've got it on,” he called.

Sakura ground her teeth in frustration, before grudgingly pulling off the white dress and slipping on the green satin he had given her.

Syaoran was sitting on a leather armchair, poring over some magazine or other when she came out of the dressing room.

“That took enough time -” he started, his words trailing off as he looked at Sakura.

She clasped her hands in front of her expectantly, awaiting his cynical verdict.

But it never came.

“Wow...” Syaoran breathed, standing up and making his way over to her. “It's...I don't know... _wow_...”

Sakura's eyes widened.

“That bad?” she asked nervously.

“Not _bad_ , you fool,” he said, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around to face the mirror.

_Wow is right_ , Sakura thought to herself, her mouth going dry as her eyes landed on her reflection.

There were no words to describe the gown. It was a shimmering kelly green that brought out the vividness of Sakura's eyes, with a rather boldly plunging neckline and a halter back. There was delicate embroidery and beading on the empire waist, and the flowing, sweeping folds of green satin hugged her curves gracefully. Most special of all was the train of the dress, which gathered up and wrapped around her arm like a graceful shawl, adding a sophisticated air of elegance to her appearance.

_It's beautiful_ , Sakura thought to herself, and as she met Syaoran's eyes in the mirror, she read thoughts of a similar nature running through them.

Somehow, this made her feel uncomfortable rather than flattered. She was uncomfortable with the way his eyes fastened not on the dress, but on _her_. Her uneasiness was not helped by the fact that his hands were still on her bare shoulders, or that he was standing so close to her, she could feel the fabric of his shirt brush her exposed back.

“I – I don't know...” she faltered. _Is it a crime to be seen in this? Why does it feel like it?_

“What's there not to know about?” Syaoran asked. “It's perfect for you.”

“Yes but -” Sakura couldn't explain the anxiety bubbling away within her, and within moments she blurted out, “What will people think when they see me in this?!”

She bit her lip, expecting a tirade of cynical harsh laughter from Syaoran's end. So she was very surprised when he pulled her around to face him. There wasn't a trace of mirth in his face as his eyes searched her downcast expression, and one of his hands reached out to cup her chin gently. He tilted her head upward, so that they were face to face, eyes locked on each others'.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, his voice almost husky.

Sakura felt dizzy as she tried to speak, but couldn't. His eyes were saying something to her, and she was melting in them. She tried to snap out of her reverie, but it felt so right, standing so close to him, so that she could let his scent wash all over her, feel his hands on her shoulder and her face, and...

“They'll see you and think,” Syaoran said, his voice softer, “that you're the most _beautiful_ woman they've ever seen.”

Sakura couldn't fight the blush that rushed to her cheeks.

“You think so?” she asked hesitantly, her eyes shining.

Syaoran chuckled, leaning forward so that his mouth was right by her ear.

“I know so,” he murmured.

_How romantic!_ Sakura's thoughts screamed, as Syaoran's murmurs sent warm air down the sensitive underside of her neck and shivers down her back. This was one thing she loved about Syaoran. Whenever he paid compliments, they always seemed sincere. Straight from the heart. And since he was constantly criticizing her, whenever he took the moment to say something painfully sweet, it made her feel like her insides were floating in bubbly champagne.

The atmosphere was changing as Sakura whispered a shy “thank you” into his ear. Her palms were oddly sweaty and her fingers were fumbling with themselves. Syaoran didn't seem to want to move. Rather, his hand was sliding down, from her shoulder, down her arm, and around her waist. Sakura stirred as she felt his warm hand settle on the bare skin of her back.

“You have to remember...” he said, bringing his face back in front of hers, her chin still cupped in his hand, “as an invitee, you can't blend into the crowd. You're not there to mingle with the rest of them. You're there because you have to _shine_.”

Sakura let out an incomprehensible reply; it sounded something like “Nnghmmhmph”, because her mind was preoccupied with _something else_. It was busy processing the fact that his mouth was far too close to hers for her liking. Or was it too far from hers for her liking? Suddenly, she wasn't sure.

_I've changed_ , she told herself firmly. _I'm not the same person I was six years ago..._

She stepped back suddenly, breaking the spell of – whatever it was.

“The dress is beautiful, Li,” she said, her voice even and decisive. “I'll wear it tomorrow.”

Syaoran blinked. Sakura was sure she saw disappointment flash in his eyes before he surveyed her coolly.

“You'd better,” he said, rather distractedly.

Sakura let out a sigh once the fitting room door was firmly closed, the wall separating her from him. This was getting ridiculous. Her resolve was already dissolving, and it hadn't even been a full day! What happened to the hardened Sakura governed by her instincts alone? Was she really so weak as to fall for Syaoran Li a second time around, when the first time had nearly cost Sakura her status and reputation as an Agent? Was she really that stupid?

_No. Just lonely_ , a voice said at the back of her mind. Sakura, froze, thoroughly disturbed by this new revelation. Lonely? Of course she was lonely. That was the only reason why she was still alive. Because she kept to herself and didn't allow herself to sustain any emotional attachments. It meant that no one could betray her – not even her shadow.

It was sad when this clear and infallible logic shattered to pieces whenever Syaoran was around. Because when he was close to her, memories of him from their days as paramours overwhelmed her. Feelings of his lips on hers, his hands in her hair, his body crushing into her own -

_Okay. Too far_ , Sakura told herself resolutely. _Think of something else..._

She had resisted him the night before. She had to keep it up. Otherwise, she would lose herself to the foolhardiness of the seventeen-year-old Sakura she had buried deep within herself somewhere. And that would be a fatal mistake. The CLA did not forgive twice.

She stepped out of the fitting room, the dress in her arms.

“Let's go,” she said brightly.

“Gladly,” Syaoran answered wryly. “I'm sick of this place.”

“Likewise,” Sakura said, glad that her voice was coming out normally and her insides had cooled to a normal temperature. “I hope that's all the shopping I'll ever have to do in my lifetime -”

Syaoran laughed.

“Are you kidding?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “That was just the dress! We still have to get your shoes, your accessories, your jewelry...”

Sakura groaned loudly. Twice.

* * *

“Well, that was rewarding,” Syaoran commented later that night. The sky was already dark as they exited Cartier's, their shopping for the day done. Sakura was utterly exhausted. She glanced at Syaoran, who seemed perfectly calm and collected, despite the strenuous and taxing activity of their afternoon.

“Remind me _never_ to come to Bond Street again,” Sakura muttered, glancing down the street distastefully.

“Oh, come off it,” Syaoran replied, his voice light. “It's not _that_ bad.”

Sakura made a noise that sounded like a cross between a scoff and a snort.

“Not _that_ bad?” she repeated disdainfully. “Coming from _you_? If I didn't know any better, I'd've thought you were gay or something!”

“Thank the stars you know better, then,” Syaoran answered. “Anyway, even if you were unfortunate enough to arrive at that conclusion, I'd be more than willing to alter your misconceptions -”

“No thanks!” Sakura blurted out, stepping away as Syaoran's words gradually became more suggestive. She'd worked hard that afternoon to build up her resistance to his charms. She didn't need her efforts spoiled by one lusty thought about him -

“Well, since it's been a long day,” Syaoran spoke again, “and since you've been so cooperative, why don't we do something a little bit _special_ tonight?”

Sakura blanched at the tone of his voice. It was sending tingles down her spine and sinful thoughts racing through her mind. Did he...mean what she thought he meant? She glanced at him incredulously.

“Claridge's is just around the corner,” he elaborated, noting the look on her face with amusement. “You know – a _restaurant_?”

“Oh!” Sakura nodded, relieved.

Syaoran snorted.

“Honestly, what _were_ you thinking?” he demanded, stopping in his tracks. “You thought I meant something else, didn't you?”

“You made it sound suggestive!” Sakura protested, instantly on her guard.

“Correction. You _interpreted_ it sounding suggestive,” Syaoran argued, his lips quirking at the corners. “Well, at least you have something of me in your _mind_ , if not anywhere else on your person.”

“I do _not_ sit around fantasizing about you, or any part of you!” Sakura snapped. She felt her face burning with embarassment as she realized that she had just spoken a complete and total _lie_.

“The redness of your face suggests otherwise, Ying Fa,” Syaoran said, resuming his paces. His voice was quite collected, professional and businesslike almost. But Sakura caught a glimpse of the smirk on his face.

“Construe what you want,” she said, almost lazily. “Dinner sounds good. I'm famished.”

“So am I...” Syaoran agreed, his voice trailing off.

_Damn him!_ Sakura thought explosively. Leave it to Syaoran Li to make her feel like the most awkward, inexperienced, _clueless_ teenager on the planet! Whatever happened to self-control, professionalism, maturity and _the mission_? What would happen if the other Field Commanders discovered that instead of working on destabilizing Tsukiyune, she and Li were strolling around London, flirting and bickering like a married couple?

She shuddered, trying not to think about it. She had to keep herself focused on the mission. She couldn't take her eyes off the playing field. No matter what Syaoran did or said to make her feel...aroused...

They reached Claridge's nearly five minutes later. Sakura was relieved, because the air was dampening again and by the time they drew underneath the awning at the entrance, rain had started falling again in soft droplets.

“For the love of...” Sakura muttered, wiping her hair off of her forehead. “It rains so much here!”

“I thought you liked the rain,” Syaoran commented abruptly, before they reached the waiter standing at the entrance.

“Two, please,” Syaoran said, and within moments they were ushered inside. Sakura noted that they were seated a little ways off from the rest of the general public, in a private booth. Maybe it had something to do with the way they were dressed. Syaoran was, as usual, dressed immacutely in his trademark Armani suit, while Sakura was also dressed impressively in a black pencil-line skirt, an elegant Marciano blouse and an ivory Rebecca Taylor coat. They probably looked like the epitome of the rich and famous, which may have influenced them to be seated privately. Or maybe...

“Have you been here before?” she asked, as the waiter disappeared from their tableside.

“A couple of times,” Syaoran said, picking up the menu and flipping through it casually.

_Hmm_... Sakura thought, eyes skimming the menu critically.

* * *

“I can't...”

“Just one more.”

“I shouldn't...”

“But you know you want it.”

“I won't be able to move tomorrow...”

“Ying Fa...” Syaoran trailed off, his hazy eyes piercing her own meaningfully. He twirled the ornamental spoon between his fingers. “I am _ordering_ you to help me through this.”

Their glances fell to the half-eaten pistachio sablé sitting in between them. Sakura glanced at it longingly. It was _delicious_!

...but so was the dark chocolate sorbet, the passion fruit crème brûlée, the Guernsey sea bass, the Cromer crab and celeriac cannelloni, the onion risotto, the pea-mint salad, the canapés...

Had she _really_ eaten that much?

She gave a wry smile.

“I won't be able to fit in that gown tomorrow,” she told him matter-of-factly. “You'll have wasted your six thousand pounds.”

“Nothing's wasted on you,” he replied, his eyes still fixed on hers. “Except for good humour, maybe...”

“I don't know which word amuses me more,” Sakura said delicately, reaching for her wine and sipping it carefully. “ _Good_? Or _humour_? Especially when ascribed to you...”

“Because I'm neither good nor humourous?” Syaoran pressed, frowning a bit as he picked at the sablé and transferred it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

Sakura pursed her lips, swallowing patiently.

“Precisely,” she said crisply.

Syaoran reached for his glass.

“You're not exactly an angel yourself,” he told her, smirking. “At times, you make _me_ look like a saint.”

“Me?” Sakura looked appalled as she set her glass back down on the table.

Syaoran arched an eyebrow fractionally.

“Remind me,” he said, swirling the deep red contents of his glass absentmindedly, “what was that you said last night? Something about morality and you not needing it...?”

“That's a philosophy mutually practiced, and you know it,” Sakura returned, though her face went slightly pink. “Don't you dare deny it.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Syaoran said airily, sipping his wine. Sakura stared at him as he did, wondering how he could turn such a simple motion into a sight to be _marveled_ at? The careless angles of his fingers, fitting so perfectly against the curvature of the goblet. The way his eyes closed as he savoured the tiniest droplets in his mouth. The way his head inclined slightly as he swallowed appreciatively. It was at moments like these, Sakura envied his upper-class upbringing. It was clear that he had so much more experience in high society than she did...

“Staring, are we?”

Sakura jolted out of her reverie, realizing too late that she had been staring absentmindedly at the man sitting across her.

“N-No...” she said, a bit shakily as Syaoran's amused smile grew. “Just thinking, that's all.”

“Not of me, I presume?”

Sakura sighed, a small smile crossing her face.

“For once, your presumptions are correct, Li,” she told him warmly.

He didn't even look at her as his fork caught another tiny piece of the sablé.

“And when you use that tone with me, it usually means you're lying,” he said coolly, transferring the pastry into his mouth again and distracting himself with chewing it slowly.

“Construe what you want,” Sakura said, not for the first time that evening. “It makes no difference to me. You'll always be the same – an arrogant, insensitive, overly self-assured _flirt_.”

“And you'll never stop being a feisty, temperamental, insecure, inconsistent _tease_ ,” Syaoran responded, after swallowing.

“ _Tease_?” Sakura demanded, her temper flaring. “I'm not the one cracking perverted comments every two seconds here!”

“That's not teasing,” Syaoran said patiently. “That's a bit of harmless flirting. There's a difference.”

“But they're done with the same intent! To work toward one ulterior motive!” Sakura pointed out.

Syaoran groaned and stared at her incredulously.

“Haven't we gone through this before?” he said irritably. “Are you _still_ persuaded that I'm nothing more than some sex-crazed pervert with nothing more to do than seducing you into my bed or something?”

“Well, you've certainly been acting like it!” Sakura snapped. “Making suggestive comments twenty times a minute, trying to feel me up, showing off your amazing sense of style in front of me – yeah, I can understand why I wouldn't be on my guard!”

“On your guard!” Syaoran shot back, his temper ignited too. “You mean you – I don't believe this. It was a _joke_ , don't you understand? I was trying to lighten the mood because you look like you're at your father's funeral or something!”

“Well, I've told you before that your sense of humour isn't what I find _funny_ ,” Sakura retorted. “And as for funerals...I wish it had been your own!”

“Well, you'd best keep wishing,” Syaoran told her darkly. “It'll take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

He raised a hand, signalling a passing waiter to the table. The waiter scurried over, and nodded as Syaoran requested the bill.

“I'm not afraid of you anymore,” Sakura said coldly, once the waiter had left them alone. “Remember that the next time you try something stupid, Li.”

He shrugged, his eyes even colder than her voice.

“I don't do stupid things,” he told her, as the waiter dropped the bill onto their table and hurried away, sensing that the couple needed privacy. He reached into his wallet, pulled out a wad of cash and dumped it on the table. Then he stood up.

Sakura stood up too, eyes never leaving his as she buttoned her coat up.

“Actions speak louder than words,” she challenged, stepping away from the table and making her way to the door.

Moments later, Syaoran had caught up to her, outside in the darkened street. The rain had stopped, but the air was still damp and humid, though somewhat cool.

“What's wrong with you?” he demanded. “It's not like you, to take a simple comment so out of proportion.”

“Just stay away from me!” Sakura spat, recoiling from him as he tried to move closer to her. “I don't need your sympathy or your fake concern, so you can just take it all back and shove it up your -”

She didn't get any further than that, because Syaoran's hands grabbed her shoulders, spun her around and rammed her forcefully against the side of their car.

“Right,” Syaoran said calmly, his voice colder than ever, “let's get one thing straight in your head, _Kinomoto-san_. As much as you try convince yourself otherwise, the only one responsible for your position right now is you and you alone. Whatever happened back in Montenegro was as much a result of your own actions as they were mine. Whatever happened at the CLA that caused you to leave and live on your own for five years was _also_ a result of your actions. It's time you took a look at yourself, grew up, accepted that, and _moved on_.”

Sakura struggled against the iron grip on her shoulders, but it was useless. His fingers just tightened more, and his angry eyes were inches from hers.

“ _Listen to me_!” he said harshly, shaking her so that she couldn't shut him out. “You can't just ignore everything that doesn't suit you and change the facts around in your head to satisfy yourself! You can't blame everything on me anymore, especially now that you've grown and matured. You make your own decisions, you have that freedom – and if I _ever_ have to put up with your pathetic act of playing the victim again -”

“You're hurting me!” Sakura cried, trying to pry his fingers loose from her shoulders.

His hands instantly let go of hers and she let out an involuntary gasp of relief, feeling bruises form on her shoulders. It struck her then, just how strong he was and just how angry he could get. What had she gotten herself into?

“What do you mean, _playing the victim_?” she demanded testily, her right hand massaging the feeling back into her left shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” Syaoran answered tonelessly. “You're acting like some helpless damsel in distress, every time I come near you. Either that, or you try to shut me out.”

“A damsel in _distress_!” Sakura scoffed, her voice growing higher in pitch. “When have I _ever_ acted like I was in _distress_?!”

“All of today,” he replied steadily. “I can see it in your eyes. You're not even giving this an effort. You've been so awkward today, I'm beginning to have second doubts about having you as a partner on this mission -”

“Take that back,” Sakura cut across, her voice dangerously quiet. “ _Now_.”

“Why should I?” Syaoran pressed. “I'm a Field Commander -”

“And so am I!” Sakura seethed, her teeth practically bared. “And I _demand_ that you treat me with the same respect that you do the remainder of your colleagues!”

“Respect must be earned,” Syaoran responded, echoing Sakura's words from years earlier. “Not demanded of.”

“It's not my fault you make me feel -” Sakura began and then halted herself mid-sentence.

She did _not_ just say that out loud.

“Feel what?” Syaoran asked. He was so close to her, she could feel the waves of anger and power radiating off of him. His amber eyes were _burning_ with an intensity that would reduce the average person to whimpers of fear. “I make you feel _what_ , exactly?”

Sakura shook her head violently, breathing explosively.

“Let's get back to the flat,” she said icily. “Since our little rendezvous just collapsed on its feet.”

Syaoran's gaze penetrated her, but she kept her eyes raised defiantly. A damsel in distress? _Her_? She couldn't tell which emotion dominated her restless mind. Indignation or _rage_.

Without a further word, Syaoran walked around the car, opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat. Sakura climbed into the seat beside him warily, and slammed the door shut. The car shook.

“I'll tell you politely this time,” Syaoran said, starting the ignition. “ _Don't_ wreck the car.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Sakura snapped back. “I'll remember in the future that you place more importance on your vehicles than on the emotional stability of your field partner!”

His lip curled, but he didn't say anything as he pressed down on the accelerator. Not a word was exchanged through the drive back to the flat, or the long twenty-floor flight up the elevator. Syaoran opened the flat door and Sakura pushed in first, claiming the bathroom. Within moments, she had changed into her nightwear, hung her clothes in the wardrobe, and claimed the giant king-sized bed. Syaoran rolled his eyes as he strolled into the bathroom, eager to change out of the suit he wore.

Sakura scowled into her pillow, fighting the urge to scream. It wasn't fair, she thought venemously. The effect he had on her. The effect he still had on her, to that very day. It wasn't fair, how he could be so easy and free around her, while just being _near_ him sent her heart palpitating. She believed herself emotionless and hardened after years of not seeing him.

Well, she'd been wrong.

She most definitely _could_ feel. The problem was, she couldn't allow herself to.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Syaoran flung the bedcovers open and flopped onto the bed beside her.

“Get away from me!” she cried, moving as far away from him as she could.

Syaoran's amber eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he flung a couple of pillows down the middle of the bed, effectively separating the two of them.

“There's enough room on here for the both of us,” he said coldly.

Sakura opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. He was driving her insane. How _could_ he just climb onto the bed like that? And with nothing more than a pile of pillows to keep them apart?

“You'd better not move those,” she said, her voice hard.

Syaoran scoffed.

“Don't worry,” he said, his voice almost contemptuous. “If I wanted to fuck you, a couple of pillows wouldn't stop me, and you know it.”

“Li -”

“I like my woman willing, thank you very much,” Syaoran finished, his voice cutting. He leaned over, switched off the light, and the room fell silent.

_Woman. He said woman. Not women,_ Sakura thought unconsciously.

She drove the thought out of her head, curling onto her side, facing away from Syaoran. This was already becoming too much. She wished the next evening would come sooner, so she could focus her thoughts on eliminating Keiro Tsukiyune from Hiiragiwaza's plans, rather than worry about her growing attraction to Syaoran -

_...It's not my fault you make me feel -_

Feel _what_ , exactly?

Weak. Inadequate. Vulnerable. And at the same time... Happy. Excited. Aroused, as much as she hated to admit it. She hated admitting that she enjoyed his advances toward her. She enjoyed arguing and bickering with him. And how she loved it when he came close, with no mask in front of his eyes. Like how he had complimented her in her dress. The sexual tension between them then had been palpable. If she hadn't stepped away in time – what would have happened?

She shivered, unconsciously wrapping the bedcovers closer around herself.

She wasn't afraid of Syaoran.

She was just afraid of the effect he had on her.

* * *

 


	9. Miscalculated

 

_**chapter viii.** miscalculated_

* * *

Sakura turned over onto her other side, for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. It was impossible for her to get any sleep, and she didn't even know why. Maybe it was because the room was too dark, or the air too silent, or simply because she was unaccustomed to the awkward feeling of having someone else sleep on the same bed as her, still and unmoving though he was.

Irritated, she cracked an eye open, to see the glowing green numbers on the digital clock on the bedstand beside her head. _3:48_ , it read.

Squeezing her eyes shut again, she buried her head deeper into her pillow, aggravated at her complete restlessness. She had a migraine coming on, her head felt heavy and even her eyes were sore from tiredness.

_Why the hell is it so hard to get some sleep around here?_

Oh, there were two perfectly good reasons. She knew quite well why she couldn't sleep.

Nerves. And palpitations.

For her strained nerves, she could thank the mission awaiting her the next day. For the palpitations however, she could thank only -

_Who?_ She asked herself, rather disconcertedly. _Li? Or me?_

Inwardly groaning at the onslaught of questions and unsettling thoughts that invaded her mind following this one insight, Sakura decided that she needed to get herself something to soothe her over-anxious mind. It was a common practice for many Agents. Nervous disorders were a common problem among those with jobs as taxing and stressful as hers. And she had always been a bit on the hypersensitive side, though she didn't usually display this facet of her to anyone else.

Lithely, she swung out of bed and silently made her way to the kitchen. She checked the cupboard for the box of herbs she had placed in there just hours earlier. Finding it, she set some water boiling on the stove. While waiting, her fingers methodically measured and mixed equal parts of some the dried herbs she had in her box. Removing the water off the stove just before it boiled over, she tipped it into an ornamental teacup she found in the cupboard, adding the herbal infusion. Replacing the kettle on a coaster, she gingerly took the steaming tea and blew into it gently.

“Let me guess,” said a voice from behind her, causing her to stiffen and turn around slowly, “you can't get any sleep as well?”

She saw Syaoran standing across from her, leaning against the opposite counter. His arms were folded across his chest and his face seemed remarkably energized, despite that it was almost four in the morning. Like her, he didn't believe in pyjamas and was dressed in a pair of baggy cotton pants and a light sleeveless shirt. His hair was even messier than it usually was, thanks to the night's tossing and turning, and she noticed that his feet were bare.

Sakura understood the motive behind his appearance. She set her cup down on the counter beside her, plucked another teacup from the cupboard, filled it with the water still hot in the kettle, and stirred in a pinch of the herbal mix she had left sitting beside her. Wordlessly, she handed the herbal infusion to him, and he accepted it.

“Thanks,” he said shortly, taking a whiff of the fragrant steam. “I trust you didn't take the opportunity to poison me or worse?”

Sakura sipped her tea freely.

“Figure it out for yourself,” she said coolly.

“Hm,” he said, taking a small sip of the concoction. “There's lavender – for your nerves. Chamomile – to get you some sleep. And...green tea?”

He tossed her a quizzical look.

“Matcha, actually,” Sakura corrected. “Close, though.”

He frowned as he took another draught.

“Makes it awfully bitter though,” he said, pulling a face.

Sakura smiled grimly.

“Bitter brews for bitter women,” she offered vaguely. “Besides, sugar would counteract the herbs' effects, wouldn't it?”

“Of course,” Syaoran said absently, taking another gulp of the scalding liquid, not seeming to mind the intense heat.

They fell into silence. Sakura noticed that the atmosphere seemed at once more comfortable than it had been when they had jumped into bed. The tension and reluctance was gone. Had their anger with the other evaporated over a few hours' worth of tossing and turning in bed? Was that the real reason the both of them couldn't get any sleep?

Syaoran drained his cup down to the dregs and set it in the sink.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked suddenly, his eyes fixed intently on hers.

Sakura shrugged, feeling a wave of wonderful calm sweep through her as she took a last gulp of her tea. Her nerves had stopped buzzing, her hands were positively still, and for the first time since she had encountered him in New York, she could think clearly.

“I wish I knew what I wanted,” she said, almost dreamily. She frowned inwardly. Where had those words come from? She didn't know, but she wasn't about to dispute them, considering they were true.

Syaoran's eyebrows rose.

“I think you know perfectly well what you want,” he told her quietly. “The real matter lies in this: you wish you could _accept_ what you want.”

She gave him a look laden with confusion and appraisal. But he continued on, thoughtfully, fluently. As though he could read the insides of her mind.

“You're conflicted about what you want most in life,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “On one hand, you have security. On the other, you have comfort. One should lead to the other, but for you, they're opposite ends of the spectrum. Where there's security, you have a job waiting for you. The only job you can do, because you were born into a life of danger. This job gives you money, independence, success – everything you can expect of life. Except comfort. There's no room for comfort in your life. No room to do what you really want. Where there's security, there is no trust, no human feeling, no soul... You're living for the moment, and only for the moment, with no hopes for a future, for another day. But you want that too.”

“Want what?” Sakura asked, her mouth dry.

“Comfort,” Syaoran replied, his lips curling into the smallest of grim smiles. “You want something you think you can't have. A normal life, without fear of danger, assassination, superiors... You're independent already. But you're not really free. And you know that you want the freedom more than you do the independence. The problem is, you can't accept that. Not just yet.”

“But I have freedom,” Sakura pointed out, going over to the sink and placing the teacup in it. “I have the freedom to do whatever I want.”

“Except this,” Syaoran said. Before Sakura could say anything more, he wrapped his arms around her and held her so close to him, they could have been one being.

She gasped with the suddenness of his movement and instinctively pulled away from him. He let her go without a word, watching her flushed face somberly.

“It's wrong, isn't it?” he asked mutely. “To have these kinds of feelings. To have these kinds of longings, these kinds of yearnings. We're field partners, professionally associated. To even think about doing this is a transgression, isn't it? But then, _why does it feel so right?_ ”

Sakura opened and closed her mouth, unable to find words. Unable to think of an answer to his questions.

“What scares you more?” Syaoran whispered, drawing her closer to him so that their faces were inches apart from each other. “The notion that you may die today, or the idea that you may be alive _tomorrow_?”

“You scare me,” Sakura breathed, her eyes wide. “More than dying today or living tomorrow. It's _you_ , Li. Nothing else.”

“Why?” Syaoran asked, his voice neither hardening nor softening. “What is it in me that scares you?”

“Everything,” Sakura confessed, biting her lip. “Everything about you. You confuse me so much, it makes my head hurt just to think about us. We shouldn't be more than professionally involved with each other. But we are. And I don't know what to call this – relationship. Last time we thought we were in love, but it didn't stand a chance against the regulations of the Association. And I'd rather stay away from you than find myself hurt that way again.”

“You can't run away from your problems forever,” Syaoran said, his eyes smouldering. “Sooner or later, you'll have to confront your worst fears. Every single one of them.”

“I don't have a problem with that,” Sakura answered. “Put any Aconite in front of me and I won't hesitate to blow his head off. Show me the face of the people who killed my family and I'll laugh as I kill them with my bare hands. But for some reason, I can't say the same about you... You make me feel so helpless, so vulnerable – why do you have this kind of effect on me? Why do I always lose control whenever you're around?”

Syaoran chuckled softly as he folded his arms around her again. He planted a kiss on her bare shoulder and she shivered.

“You know the answer to that yourself,” he said, his lips trailing soft kisses up her shoulders, neck and jawline. “It's the same reason why you can't bring yourself to resist - _this_.”

He planted his mouth against hers. And this time, Sakura yielded instantly, her hands travelling up his back to tangle themselves into his thick brown hair. She arched against him, feeling his hands caressing her softly, his lips against her own, his tongue slowly entering her mouth -

They broke away, gasping for breath, before their lips met again. Sakura closed her eyes as she felt Syaoran press her against the counter, his lips moving from her lips to suckle and graze at a point near her collarbone. As she felt one of his warm hands slide underneath her shirt and brush the skin of her stomach, she briefly lost her balance. Her hands shot out and caught the edge of the counter behind her, steadying herself. His hand underneath her shirt was slowly moving upward, trailing a fiery path of tingles in its wake.

“Syaoran...” she murmured, one of her hands sliding across the counter, along the cool marble, a wooden coaster, the alarm clock -

Alarm clock?

Sakura opened her eyes, to see her hand on top of the clock. The time now read _7:14_.

_What the hell?_

Then she realized that she was lying in bed, her hand was lying on top of the digital watch on the bedstand, and the window on the side wall was pouring delicate rays of light into the room.

Slowly, trembling, she brought her hand to her lips. Hadn't – hadn't Syaoran been kissing them just moments earlier?

She turned onto her other side, where Syaoran had been sleeping. It was empty, the covers thrown back. Her eyes rested on the bathroom door, where a crack of light was visible. She could hear the shower running.

She sat up, glancing around the room. Everything was the same as it had been the night before.

She cradled her head in her hands, her fingers massaging her temples gently.

_Was it all a dream?_

Moments in the kitchen replayed themselves vividly in her head.

_I wish I knew what I wanted..._

_...I think you know perfectly well what you want... You want something you think you can't have..._

_...I'd rather stay away from you than find myself hurt that way again..._

_...Why do I always lose control whenever you're around...?_

Sakura shook her head violently, trying to rid herself of it all.

“Bullshit,” she muttered viciously, getting out of bed.

* * *

Syaoran stepped out the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and heading toward the sink. Ever the picture of immaculate proficiency, he reached for his razor and began to shave off the slight shadow of stubble that had begun to grow on his face.

He'd slept surprisingly well the night before. Though Syaoran was a light sleeper, he couldn't remember waking up in the middle of the night. It was a pleasant revelation, having expected to sleep little thanks to his agitation and frustration the night before.

He couldn't believe Sakura at times. She could be so stubborn, it exasperated him. After spending a day in London, shopping, joking and getting along perfectly amiably, she had to spoil the mood with her paranoia. Honestly, did she have to deny herself the right to even _talk_ to him now? Forget romantic involvement, but still – at this point, _trust_ would have been an asset!

She didn't trust him one little bit.

It pained him more than he would have liked to admit.

_Fine then_ , he thought to himself decisively, glancing at his bright-eyed counterpart in the mirror before rinsing his face. _If she wants me to stay away, then I'll do just that. And I'm not setting a toe near her unless necessary – or if she outright asks me herself._

Anything to avoid the deliberately cruel exchange they'd shared the night before.

Drying his face with a towel and slipping on some clothes, he opened the bathroom door.

Sakura was waiting there. Her eyes met his for a brief second, in which he dared himself to hope that everything was settled between them. Then, her gaze dropped to the ground and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

_Note to self. Things are not okay._

Syaoran stepped out of the way and she quickly stepped into the bathroom. Her ears were bright red, he noticed. Wisely, he decided not to comment.

Moments later, the door shut and he was left standing in the hall by himself.

Shaking his head, he went back into the bedroom to look over the mission details again.

* * *

The day passed by slowly and in complete silence. The only time Sakura or Syaoran spoke to each other was to briefly discuss their plans that evening on how to tackle Keiro Tsukiyune. The remainder of the time, Syaoran read the sheets in his folder while Sakura sat in the sitting room meditating intently.

Deliveries were made to their door, courtesy of their marathon shopping spree the day before. A box labelled _Jimmy Choo_ , a bag bearing the name _Cartier's_ , a huge package with _Badgley Mischka_ inscribed on it...

Sakura accepted them coolly, signing for them under her alias, Maeda Kasumi. After placing the packages carefully in the wardrobe, she withdrew her suitcase and pulled out a slim black folder, similar to the one in Syaoran's hands. It was full almost to the bursting, but she found what she needed quickly, and extracted it from the folder's contents.

It was a small black cloth purse.

She emptied the contents of the small black bag onto the bed. Syaoran didn't look her way, which convenienced her. There was a pile of fake passports sitting on the bed now, and she glanced through each of them. She had used them all previously. Old aliases that she never threw away entirely, just in case...

She found the one she had used during her previous stay in London, where she was Mizune Megumi. Opening the sleek black book, she turned to the photograph and stared at it intently. The woman in the photo was unrecognizable. She studied the details, trying to remember what she had used in order to achieve that image. Hair dye. Contact lenses. Liberal amounts of whitening powder. Not to mention the slight changes she had made in the shape of her eyes and the length of her nose...

Disguising herself was an art form she thoroughly enjoyed. So, after a quick glance at the clock, which told her that it was three in the afternoon, she stood up, gathered her essentials from her suitcase and stepped into the bathroom again.

* * *

Syaoran put his folder down, glancing at the clock. It was half past five. They had made plans to leave for the gathering at a quarter past six precisely. His attention turned toward the bathroom door. It was still locked.

_Her disguise had better be good_ , he thought to himself. _She's been in there for hours..._

Still, it wasn't his first time working with Sakura, and from what he remembered (which was considerable), she usually took hours perfecting a disguise.

He stood up and stretched, thinking to sort out what he was going to wear and the kind of disguise he himself would need. His attention was diverted, however, when his eyes registered on a pile of different passports scattered on the bed. Frowning, he picked up one of them. Was it Sakura's?

The name read _Mizune, Megumi_ , and it dawned upon him. He glanced at the woman pictured and blinked twice. He couldn't recognize Sakura in it at all. The woman pictured had jet black hair, startlingly violet eyes and beautifully chiseled features. Looking past the unusual colouring of her hair and eyes, Syaoran could see how Sakura had transformed herself. Her face was less oval, her jaw more clearly defined. The nose was slightly narrower, the eyes were larger, her cheekbones were highlighted...

_Not bad_ , he thought, putting down the passport. He made his way to the wardrobe and glanced at the dozen or so formal suits he had hung there. After half a minute's indecision, he finally chose a suit that he didn't usually wear and lay it on the bed. He glanced at himself in the vanity mirror, wondering exactly what kind of a disguise he'd need. Something subtle. According the passport he had been given, Maeda Taro was thirty years old, six feet even, and born in the United States.

He set to work quickly. From his own kit of essentials, he added a line here and there, aging himself a couple of years. Enough to add maturity without adding – well – _age_.

_I'm not old or tired_ , he thought to himself, glancing at his reflection. He was somewhat satisfied. At least he looked around thirty. He was actually twenty-seven years old, not that far away from the age Maedo Taro was supposed to be. But for some reason, Syaoran didn't look any older than twenty-five. Not that it bothered him, though...

He scrutinized his reflection. Something was wrong. It was the tan, he decided. He had to fix it; it was somewhat conspicuous. He shuffled around, trying to find the whitening powder that CLA Agents used to lighten their skin tones for disguises. He couldn't find it.

_Maybe Sakura has it_ , he thought, glancing at the bathroom door, which was still shut. He took his chances, walked to the door and was just about to knock when the door opened.

Syaoran spoke quickly before she could brush by him.

“Do you have the...?”

But the words died on his lips, because the Sakura standing in front of him was...well... _not_ Sakura. Her skin was milk white, her hair was jet black and sleekly fell past her shoulderblades, and when she glanced at him through thick, dark eyelashes, he saw that the shape of her eyes seemed different.

“Yes?” she asked. Even her voice was different – it was lower in pitch, but softer in tone. And – Syaoran took a step back when he realized that she was wearing nothing but the bathrobe again, its folds wrapped tightly against her slim form.

“Are you done?” he asked finally, when he regained control of his voice.

“Yes,” Sakura answered. To his surprise, she walked out of the bathroom and headed for the bedroom.

“What time is it?” she called, and he noted that her voice was completely different from the one she usually spoke in. She sounded more mature, more worldly ... more sultry -

“Quarter to six,” he replied shortly, trying to tear his eyes away from her. It wasn't easy. Not every day did he get a chance to view Sakura in nothing more than a towel bathrobe without her objection.

“Thanks,” she said, and glanced at him again from beneath those curiously thickened eyelashes. To his utter surprise, he saw that her eyes were still green, albeit somewhat darker than they had been before. And that look she was giving him, it was – it was turning him on, damn it!

“You're welcome,” he said somberly, keeping his face straight and his eyes serious. Then he turned into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Sakura tilted her head at the closed door. If she'd elicited any reaction out of Syaoran, she hadn't been able to tell. But no matter. At least she had the opportunity to practice being in character. Being in disguise involved a _lot_ more work than just brushing on makeup and putting on an accent.

* * *

Syaoran came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, dressed in the elegantly-cut Dior suit. His entire form was lightened by about five shades and he decided that the absence of the tan did indeed make him look like a thirty-year-old. Walking into the bedroom, his eyes were immediately drawn to Sakura, dressed in the breathtaking green gown he had purchased for her the day before. She was standing in front of the vanity table, with a large bottle of perfume in her hands. It was almost empty.

Captivated, he watched as she carefully dabbed tiny, tiny amounts of the deep purple liquid behind her ears, on her neck, and on her wrists. As though the perfume itself was precious, a thing not to be wasted. He glanced at the bottle with growing comprehension. The name of the perfume on the bottle was half faded, worn away by years of use. But he could fill in the blanks.

_Passion_ , he remembered. He vividly remembered buying the last bottle in the store and presenting it to her rather uncertainly, having never gifted a woman (aside from his mother and sisters) anything before. He remembered the shocked look in Sakura's eyes as she accepted it from him, remembered the scent even before it reached his nostrils. Jasmine and vanilla and wooden undertones...

He couldn't believe that she still used it after all these years. He would have thought the memories associated with it too painful for her to bear. But when she put the bottle back onto the vanity table, he could see that a very small amount was left. Sure enough, she had been using the same bottle for the last six years.

He dropped his gaze as Sakura spotted him in the mirror, and turned to face him. There were no words the two of them could have exchanged anyway. He pretended to have just walked in, to have not seen the near-empty perfume bottle sitting on the vanity table. And though she could see right through his bluff, she too, accepted his silence without question or complaint.

* * *

They set out of their flat at exactly a quarter past six, a black stretch limousine waiting in the lobby to pick them up. The chauffeur held the door open for them, as Syaoran first helped Sakura into the vehicle and then climbed in to sit beside her. The act had started, even before the door of the limousine closed.

The driver climbed into his seat and set off. Sakura and Syaoran sat in silence, both looking out opposite windows at the evening London sky. If either were apprehensive about the mission approaching them, they gave no outward sign of it. But Syaoran's gun was still in his blazer's inside pocket, and Sakura had concealed another one inside her elegantly beaded clutch.

Half an hour passed in this manner, until the limousine stopped by the harbourside. There was a moment of absolute stillness within the back of the vehicle, when Sakura tore her eyes from her hands and Syaoran turned his gaze from the window. Their eyes met for a moment, before both slipped their masks on completely. When the chauffeur opened the door, they had become Maeda Kasumi and Taro, the newly-wedded couple.

Syaoran stepped out of the limo first, before offering a hand to Sakura, who accepted it gracefully. Once out of the vehicle, they were besieged by eager waiters and security personnel. While Syaoran politely assured the guards that they had been invited to the gathering and pointed out their names on the guest list (courtesy of some hacking on his part the day before), Sakura smiled disarmingly at the hard stares of the guards glaring aggressively at the two of them. With a flutter of her eyelashes, they dropped their gazes, red-faced. As they were permitted to pass through, Syaoran offered his arm to Sakura, who accepted it with convincing eagerness.

The gathering was to take place on a yacht belonging to Keiro Tsukiyune. He had around three hundred invitees, which did not include the guests that these invitees chose to bring along. Hence, the boat was easily prepared to carry up to five hundred guests, not including the staff and personnel (including waiters, entertainers, the ship's crew, security, etc.). It was a huge affair. Though boat parties were a sign of excessive wealth and enviable exclusivity, to Sakura and Syaoran, the location provided unnecessary complications. For one thing, it would be difficult to communicate with the outside world from the dock of a well-filled boat. For another, should the case arise, it would be difficult to escape. But the both of them were not Field Commanders for no reason, and had their bases covered. Or so they thought.

When they boarded the yacht, they were immediately set upon by waiters bearing trays of _amuse-bouches_ and flutes of expensive Cristal champagne. Both smiled graciously and took the champagne, first checking discreetly for any adulterations in the beverages.

“Young blood!” roared a red-faced, genial-looking man in his fifties. He turned to face Sakura and Syaoran, a grin spreading on his plump face.

“Taro Maeda,” Syaoran replied politely in perfectly Americanized English. “And this is my wife, Kasumi.”

Sakura inclined her head with a smile.

“Well, isn't it a pleasure to meet you two?” the man said, shaking their hands in succession. “I'm Todd Stitzer. CEO of Cadbury Schweppes. You're not from around here, I'm guessing?”

“I'm not,” Syaoran said. “But my wife lived here for a bit. Didn't you, Kasumi?”

“Oh, yes,” Sakura answered, her English bearing a slight British accent. “I went to Cambridge for five years. I would have stayed longer, but then -” she glanced at Syaoran, “-other things got in the way.”

“Young love,” Stitzer chirped. He was surprisingly informal for a man of his social standing and wealth. Sakura could only assume that he had overindulged in the Cristal served in heapings by the waiters.

“Something like that,” Syaoran said, sharing a knowing glance with his “wife”.

Stitzer observed them with a wry smile.

“Since you two are obviously new to the game,” he said cheerfully, “why don't I introduce you to some of the people here? I'm to meet Keiro in about half an hour. Perhaps you'd like to join me?”

Both of them were fully alert now.

“Keiro...as in Mr. Tsukiyune?” Syaoran asked, careful to anglicize the Japanese last name.

“The one and only!” Stitzer affirmed.

“We'd be honoured,” Sakura spoke up. Dropping her empty champagne flute onto the tray of a passing waiter, she placed another hand on Syaoran's arm and met his eyes. “Won't we, Taro?”

“Of course,” Syaoran replied, enjoying the feeling of Sakura's arms on his own a lot more than he should have.

“Follow me, then,” Stitzer said, turning on his heel. As though beckoned, a young lady materialized and clung to the CEO's arm. Sakura exchanged a communicative glance with Syaoran, before Stitzer spoke up.

“Mr. Maeda, I gather you don't come to these types of gatherings very often?”

“Not very often, no,” Syaoran replied.

“I'll give you some advice, then,” Stitzer offered, a smile evident in his voice. “Keep your hands on your wife.”

Syaoran chuckled, dropping his arm and sliding it around Sakura's waist. She started as she felt the wool of his blazer sleeve brush her bare back, and gave him a look.

Syaoran quirked an eyebrow.

“You heard the man. I'm keeping my hands on my wife.”

Sakura shook her head, but secretly she didn't mind at all.

* * *

There was one thing everyone on that boat knew about the rich and eccentric Keiro Tsukiyune.

Punctuality was _not_ a prioritizing concern of his.

And so, CEO Todd Stitzer of Cadbury Schweppes took Tsukiyune's delays in stride, introducing the lovely young couple to several other associates of his. The entire sky deck carried nearly a hundred people, all waiting to catch a glimpse or a snatch of conversation with their gracious host. Despite Stitizer's very good advice, after half an hour it remained impossible for Sakura to remain glued at Syaoran's side (as much as the both of them secretly enjoyed it, of course). Stitzer introduced Syaoran to a circle of the most accomplished men in Europe, while Sakura was on the other side of the deck, mingling with the women (mostly these accomplished men's wives, mistresses...in some cases, their mothers...).

The sky had darkened to a deep lavender, the afterglow of sunset streaking bright pink and red rays in the horizon. The temperature cooled significantly, and Sakura shivered, wrapping her train around her arm more firmly. She cursed Syaoran for choosing such a _showy_ dress, but she understood his intentions completely. There had not been one person on this ship who had not complimented her stunning gown. At which point, Syaoran would let the smallest of smirks cross onto his lips.

“...now if only Ryan had good taste in clothing. You know, I've only ever _dreamed_ of owning a gown like that, Mrs. Maeda!”

Sakura allowed herself to blush slightly, and smiled at the older woman who had been fawning over her gown for the _last – twenty – minutes_.

“And you know, it isn't as though the _price_ of these indulgences is what scares my husband away! No, no...we are one of England's wealthiest families! Did I tell you, my husband was ranked among the top-earning men for the last three years straight?”

“Yes you did, Mrs. Spencer,” Sakura said with polite enthusiasm. _Three times before, might I add..._

“Yes, well...I'm never one to brag much, but that is quite _something_ , is it not?” the insecure and more-than-slightly tipsy Mrs. Spencer continued, draining copious gulps of her champagne. “Not to mention, we _are_ distantly related to the Welsh royal family! My husband's distant cousins, didn't you know?” She let out a tiny giggle. “Well, that makes us practically royalty, I imagine!”

Sakura let the smile widen about her mouth, secretly begging to be freed of this mundane, repetitive conversation. She glanced behind herself and saw Syaoran conversing somberly with a circle of older men.

_Whatever you're talking about, it's probably more interesting than this_ , Sakura thought, part vehemently, part despairingly.

And she was right. The men _were_ talking about things far more interesting than Mrs. Spencer's advantageous family connections. Specifically...

“I cannot believe you! It is _absurd_ to suggest that – _ignorant_ in the face of plain empirical evidence provided by everyday experience and accounted for by scientific fact – it is only logical to conclude that the _egg_ came before the _chicken_!”

“Hah! _Monsieur Kowalski_ , you appear to have made one serious, serious oversight! Of course, _ze_ chicken came from _ze_ egg, but then, maybe you will be so kind as to tell me...where did your egg come from? Apart from _ze_ chicken that so obviously preceded it, of course!”

...Well, it was more interesting than having to listen to Mrs. Spencer repeat the same three facts about her husband's earnings. However, Syaoran found himself truly and utterly bored. It took a great deal of his strength to keep a convincingly attentive expression on his face.

“ _Monsieur Maeda_ , _qu'est-ce que vous pensez_?” The ever-passionate Mr. Laroche turned to Syaoran, daring him to challenge his viewpoint. “Which came first, _le poulet_ _ou_ _l'oeuf_? _Ze_ chicken or _ze_ egg?”

Syaoran groaned inwardly.

“The chicken, of course,” he said, perfectly calmly. He caught a glimpse of Sakura, standing with the rest of the women, smiling and laughing with them radiantly.

_Whatever you're talking about, it's probably more interesting than this_ , he thought desperately.

* * *

At the first opportunity, Syaoran excused himself and headed for the stairwell. He had seen Sakura break free from the circle of ladies she had been standing with, and he was eager to escape the heated philosophical discussion that had raged among the circle of men he had stood with.

Sakura let out a small yelp when she felt someone grab her arm roughly and drag her into the deserted hallway by the landing. Her heart rate instantly slowed when she saw that it was Syaoran.

“Oh, it's just you,” she said, fanning herself slightly. “What brings you here?”

“Sheer and utter boredom,” Syaoran replied, leaning back on the railing and gazing at her lazily.

“You have no idea,” Sakura commented dryly, examining the backs of her perfectly manicured nails.

“Try me,” Syaoran challenged, a glint coming into his dark eyes. “ _I've_ been standing around with a group of old men, listening to them argue about whether the chicken preceded the egg.”

“Really?” Sakura let out a small laugh as she made her way beside him, placing her hands on the railing and gazing out at the uniform waves of the Thames River and the London nightscape.

“Well, there's this one woman, Mrs. Spencer,” she spoke up softly, her eyes alight with mirth. “All she can talk about is her husband. How much he earns, how wealthy he is. How he's related to the royal family in Wales...”

She trailed off, a wry look on her face.

“It doesn't help that she's more than a little tipsy,” she said, meeting Syaoran's gaze.

“Can't blame her,” Syaoran observed, the corners of his mouth tilting. “The champagne's quite good. And it does go to your head easily.”

“Shame on you,” Sakura admonished, leaning against the railing. “I thought you could hold your liquor.”

“I can,” Syaoran defended himself imperiously, and it was true. All CLA Agents could hold their liquor. Part of their training in field school included building up otherworldly levels of tolerance. Sakura smiled faintly, remembering those days. Imagine waking up with a hangover every day for a month straight.

“I know. I was just teasing.”

Syaoran turned over so that he could lean out and share the view of the London cityscape with her. They didn't even realize that the awkwardness of the day before had melted away; that they had forgiven each other and were conversing with complete ease.

“I had no idea this gathering would be so _boring_ ,” Sakura commented, frowning a little.

Syaoran let out a dark laugh.

“Well, what did you suppose?” he asked. “The rich lead comfortable lives. Excitement's a non-factor for them.”

“Unless your name is Mrs. Spencer and you're surrounded by bottles of free Cristal,” Sakura pointed out.

Syaoran raised an eyebrow.

“That was cruel,” he remarked.

“Sorry,” Sakura said, though she didn't sound it. “It's just – it gets tiring, you know? Surrounded by all these fake people, and having to pretend to be interested in what they say? Hearing one of them brag about their husband's latest breakthrough, or another pointing out their very expensive shoes, or the rest of them checking out the young men on the deck -”

“ _What_?” Syaoran choked. “Aren't they all married?”

“Yes,” Sakura replied impassively. “I've had many an acquaintance fawn over you, you know.”

“Really?” Syaoran was grinning now.

“Yes,” Sakura answered, remarkably unperturbed. “You're quite the mystery man. I've had to answer _so_ many questions about you. How old you are, where you were born, what you do, how we met, when we fell in love, etc. etc. etc...”

“Wait up.” Syaoran was highly amused. “What did you tell them?”

“What?” Sakura blinked before regaining her composure. “Oh, I told them you were thirty, born in Kyoto, and we met in America when you spilled coffee on my papers at a conference and took me out to coffee in apology -”

“How creative,” Syaoran commented. “And then what?”

“Then...” Sakura thought. “Then I told them that all other details were purely personal.”

“You're no fun,” Syaoran complained with a scowl.

Sakura merely smiled knowingly.

“Don't do that,” Syaoran warned her.

“Do what?”

“Smile. Like that,” Syaoran said.

“Why not?” Sakura asked, nonplussed.

“Because,” Syaoran said, words beginning to fail him. “Because I'll have to keep my eye on you more often.”

Sakura regarded him levelly.

“Why?”

“Well...” Syaoran struggled. “You should see the way the men look at you.”

“They look at me because I stand out,” Sakura stated innocently, her eyes boring into his. “Remember?”

“Hell, you stand _out_ ,” Syaoran admitted, “but they look at you like – like -”

“A pair of pants they desperately want to get into?” Sakura asked dryly. “Li, I'm used to it. I can take care of myself.”

“I _know_ you can,” Syaoran said emphatically. “It's just -” _I don't want them touching you_ , he finished in his mind, knowing he could never say it out loud.

Sakura laid a hand gently on his arm.

“I'll be fine,” she said softly. “Trust me.”

“I trust _you_ ,” Syaoran answered steadily. “I just don't trust _them_.”

Sakura sighed. He was getting possessive again.

* * *

Within half an hour, they were back on the sky deck. Almost immediately, they were separated by their respective circles: Sakura was ushered by a group of women led by Mrs. Spencer to meet Kate Middleton (who had apparently been seen on the boat not five minutes earlier), while Syaoran found himself beset by Stitzer, Kowalski and Laroche, who were eager to start another charged discussion.

Just as Syaoran thought he would rather fail the assignment than endure another half hour's worth of incessant squabbling with these men, Stitzer squinted and cupped a hand around his mouth.

“Well, look who finally decided to show!” he called, nearly causing Syaoran to choke on the champagne he had just sipped. “If it isn't old Keiro, out for an evening stroll!”

Syaoran instantly snapped to attention, as inwardly alert as he was outwardly relaxed.

“Todd!” came another voice, brazen and somewhat slurred. Its owner strode into view, clasping Stitzer's left arm quite enthusiastically. “It's _wonderful_ to see you again!”

Keiro Tsukiyune had been a prominent social elitist for decades, and his manner corresponded to his status at his gathering. He was nearing his late fifties and as such, his long blue-green hair bore several streaks of silver. Despite his age, he bore the vestiges of aristocratically good looks. The slight hunch in his shoulders belied his otherwise tall frame, his keen black eyes were framed by slim gold spectacles, and a few noticeable wrinkles were present on his well-formed face. Dressed as he was in Burberry's best, Syaoran's attention was instantly drawn to Tsukiyune's right arm, which was held stiff and immobile by his side.

Sakura had been right. It was paralyzed.

Careful not to stare or lose his focus, Syaoran kept his eyes politely lowered, his ears focused on the conversation growing between Stitzer and Tsukiyune.

“Whatever took you so long to appear at your own party?” Stitzer inquired, plucking yet another flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “Did you miss the boat and have to swim after it?”

Tsukiyune laughed at the thought of it. His laughter sent Syaoran's nerves on edge. There was something about Keiro Tsukiyune's voice that sent his senses on high alert. Despite his immaculate appearance, Syaoran could instantly tell that the man was up to no good.

“How's Georgiana?” Tsukiyune asked in response. “I saw her boarding the yacht from my cabin, and my, does she look beautiful this evening!”

“She's doing perfectly well,” Stitzer answered placidly. “Oh, and before I forget - Keiro, have you met Mr. Maeda?”

Syaoran raised his eyes to meet Tsukiyune's gaze, which had now fastened upon him.

“The pleasure has escaped me in the past,” Tsukiyune admitted, discreetly examining the Chinese man standing before him. “But never mind. We'll start anew. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. -?”

“Maeda,” Syaoran cut in smoothly. “Taro Maeda. And the pleasure's all mine, Mr. Tsukiyune.”

He extended his right hand.

Tsukiyune grasped Syaoran's proferred hand awkwardly with his left one and shook it clumsily.

“Please. Mr. Tsukiyune makes me feel older than I already am,” he commented with a wry expression on his face. “Call me Keiro.”

“Of course,” Syaoran said, making sure to sound eager and enthusiastic, as would be expected of a guest as young as him. “It's incredible seeing you in person, Mr. Tsukiyu – I mean, Keiro. The way you've managed to keep your corporation's stocks high for the last thirty years – it's truly unbelievable.”

Tsukiyune took the compliment in stride, signalling the waiter to serve him a flute of Cristal.

“Why thank you,” he said, making no effort to appear modest or bashful. “You're new to the corporate world, I presume?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Syaoran replied with a slight smile. “Actually, I've been in the industry for about seven years now. Maybe you've heard of my company? Swallow Enterprises?”

Tsukiyune's brow furrowed as he took a long, slow sip of the pale golden champagne. He seemed absorbed in thought, but Syaoran could see recognition and excitement carefully suppressed in Tsukiyune's obsidian eyes.

“Swallow Enterprises?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “I believe I've heard the name before. Raw minerals, If I'm not mistaken?”

“Extraction of raw minerals, actually,” Syaoran corrected, inclining his head slightly. “But I'm flattered – you've actually heard of Swallow Enterprises before?”

“Of course I have,” Tsukiyune said dismissively. “Your stock jumped this quarter, didn't it? By – how much was it again – twenty-eight percent?”

“Yes,” Syaoran said, with a convincing show of modesty and suppressed pride. “But – how did you know?”

“Wouldn't you guess the odds? There was a small writeup about your company in the paper, just today,” Tsukiyune said, smirking (never realizing that the article in the newspaper had been written by a CLA technician miles away on a different continent). “And you know, I've been looking for partners in the raw materials industry. Now isn't the best time to discuss business matters, I know, but if the opportunity for an understanding was to present itself...”

“I'd be honoured,” Syaoran spoke up, recognizing Tsukiyune's hidden meaning. “However, I'll have to discuss this with my partner before arriving at a decision -”

“Your partner?” Tsukiyune asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My wife,” Syaoran interjected quickly, smiling hesitantly. “She runs the company with me. I think she'd be welcome to this opportunity, but I still have to ask her nonetheless...”

“Call her here,” Tsukiyune said, somewhat eagerly. “Maybe we can arrange to meet at a later date, to discuss details? That is, if your wife agrees.”

“I would be delighted,” Syaoran assured him. He turned around, searching the deck for Sakura. At first, he had difficulty, before he remembered that she had dyed her hair black. Sure enough, he spotted her standing not a great distance away, her train gathered in one hand and a half-empty flute of champagne in the other. He tore his gaze away from the smooth white expanse of skin revealed by her gown's halter back, and cleared his throat.

“Kasumi!” he called, the name sounding foreign on his lips. He saw her stir slightly before turning around, her sleek black hair flipped over one shoulder. She made her way to his side slowly, eyes demurely downcast. Syaoran noticed heads turning as she walked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flicker in Tsukiyune's eyes.

“That's my wife,” he said, nodding to the approaching Sakura.

“She's charming,” Tsukiyune commented, and his eyes were wider behind his spectacles indeed. All of his attention was concentrated upon Sakura, allowing Syaoran to examine him quite thoroughly. He caught Tsukiyune's eyes roving up and down Sakura's body, up and down as though imagining what lay underneath the flamboyant dress...

_Is that recognition?_ Syaoran wondered. _Or is that just lust?_

There was only one way to find out, he decided. As Sakura drew near, he extended his hand and she took it, expecting him to kiss it like he had earlier.

What she did not expect was for Syaoran to lean in close and kiss her on the lips.

Before she could protest or respond or even _think_ , for that matter, he drew away from her.

“I missed you,” he said gently, mouth curving into a smile. His eyes shifted fractionally toward Tsukiyune and back onto Sakura. She understood, playing along.

“So did I,” she replied, glad for the faint blush that appeared on her cheeks.

Syaoran clasped her hand in his more firmly, before turning to Tsukiyune, just in time to see a flash of fury instantly suppressed in his eyes.

“Kasumi, I want you to meet Mr. Keiro Tsukiyune,” Syaoran said amiably. “Keiro, this is my wife, Kasumi Maeda.”

Tsukiyune proffered his left hand, and Sakura took it.

“It is the greatest pleasure of my evening so far,” he said quietly, pressing his lips to Sakura's fingers, “to meet the most beautiful woman I've seen in months.”

Sakura blushed and lowered her gaze.

“I'm honoured, Mr. Tsukiyune,” she said, convincingly flattered and demure.

Tsukiyune regarded her with a piercing stare. She noticed that he hadn't bothered to let go of her hand yet.

“Your husband informed me that you and him were equals in the running of your company,” Tsukiyune told her, his thumbs almost accidentally brushing her fingers. “And when I proposed that we initiate an – understanding, he was loath to do so without your approval.”

Sakura laughed lightly.

“Well, he has an obligation to, as my partner,” she replied. “You can hardly blame him, Mr. Tsukiyune.”

Tsukiyune chuckled. It was not a pretty sound. By now, both Sakura and Syaoran were aware of the patterns that Tsukiyune's thumb was tracing on Sakura's fingers.

“My dear, I do not blame young Taro for anything,” Tsukiyune replied gravely. “For it is through him that I had the great fortune of encountering you this evening.”

Sakura decided that it was time for Maeda Kasumi to grow embarrassed, like a proper woman of social standing would.

“You are too kind,” she mumbled, averting her gaze and withdrawing her hand from Tsukiyune's insistently probing fingers.

“Hardly,” Tsukiyune said, holding out an empty champagne flute and dropping it into the tray of yet another passing waiter. “Perhaps – if your husband did not mind, of course – you could accompany me later on a stroll around the observation deck? The view is truly quite scenic at this time of the night.”

He cocked his head toward Syaoran, whose face was smoothly impassive. Sakura caught a glimpse of fire burning in his eyes before he turned his gaze to meet hers.

“I believe I would enjoy it very much,” Sakura replied slowly, eyes fixed on Syaoran's. She saw one of his hands clench into a fist and gave him a warning glance, before meeting Tsukiyune's bespectacled eyes.

“Excellent,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I must go now. There are plenty of others to meet, after all!”

He glanced at Sakura squarely in the eye.

“None quite so memorable as you though, I'm sure,” he muttered, before sweeping away to mingle with other guests.

Sakura stood there blankly, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“I told you,” Stitzer, who had observed it all, said to Syaoran while shaking his head. “You should have kept your hands on your wife!”

Syaoran glanced at Sakura worriedly, trying to read her inscrutable face.

“I'll be right back,” she told him and headed for the ladies' bathroom. Once she was inside the stall and convinced that she was alone, she pulled a cell phone out of her clutch and dialed a number stored in the memory of her phone.

“It's me,” she said quietly, her face grim and suddenly austere. “Yes, I'm back in London. I need your help.”

There was a pause.

“I'm on a yacht sailing on the Thames,” Sakura said in Japanese, her voice even quieter. “I'd have no problems getting off myself but I have a liability here that I'd rather be rid of.”

Another pause.

“Uh-huh,” Sakura continued. “You know what to do. And tell Dylan to be ready. I can't afford any delays.”

With that, she hung up and slid her phone back into her clutch.

* * *

It was in the middle of dinner when Syaoran managed to pull Sakura out of the dining room and onto the deserted observation deck, one level below the dining rooms.

“He recognizes you,” Syaoran said shortly.

“I know,” Sakura answered coolly. “Your point?”

“He pretends that he doesn't,” Syaoran replied stiffly. “He's up to something. I thought you said he was possessive.”

“He is,” Sakura affirmed. “Didn't you see the way he got me to accompany him later on? He didn't even ask for your permission.”

“He didn't lose his temper, though,” Syaoran said, frowning. “And now you've got yourself a moonlit stroll with him, all alone. He recognizes you as Mizune Megumi and is in all probability going to attempt to kill you.”

“I think you just about summed it up,” Sakura commented sarcastically. “Anything else you'd like to add?”

“Yeah,” Syaoran retorted. “Tsukiyune's probably wondering what we're up to right now.”

Sakura snorted.

“He thinks we're off making out or making love in some hidden corridors,” she informed him curtly. “He has more important things on his mind right now.”

“Like what?” Syaoran pressed. “Oh, let me guess. You took the liberty of switching my wine glass with his when he went to go check on the waiters, to make sure that my Merlot was poisoned?”

The sound of derisive applause met their ears. Syaoran's head snapped around to the source of the noise while Sakura's face remained downcast.

Keiro Tsukiyune strode into view, his face arranged into an expression of sinisterly smug complacence.

“Clever boy, isn't he?” he inquired brightly, staring hard at Sakura.

She raised her gaze to meet his eyes defiantly.

“Cleverer than you'll ever be,” she countered.

Tsukiyune clucked his tongue disapprovingly as a gun suddenly materialized in his left hand.

“Wrong answer, I'm afraid,” he said, a twisted grin spreading onto his face.

Syaoran blinked and glanced at Sakura. She didn't look back at him.

Maybe it was because her eyes had spotted something more riveting.

Namely, the dozen or so security guards who were now surrounding them.

Or, more importantly, the giant Sig Sauers in their hands, all aiming directly at Syaoran and her.

* * *

 

 


	10. Hunted

 

_**chapter ix.** hunted_

* * *

Only once before in his life had Syaoran found himself unduly worried about matters whirling out of his control. That had been at the tender age of four, when he had glimpsed his mother's red eyes and learned that he had lost his father. Too young to inherit the family estate, too innocent to even understand why he suddenly had no father, Syaoran had found himself lost in a myriad of grief and sorrow. It did not take him long to regain control in his life through assuming the cold and emotionless demeanour he displayed for the rest of his life.

This time, however, Syaoran realized that no amount of emotional suppression could turn the tables in his favour. He fought to remain calm, though his eyes darted around trying to spot a weakness in the guards that surrounded him. There were none.

“Is there a need for all this?” Sakura inquired, rather lightly for the situation. But Syaoran understood; he knew that her heart was pounding just as painfully quickly as his was. Under the semblance of unperturbed calm, she was plucking at straws, trying to buy them time. With small talk.

Tsukiyune's lip curled into a cold sneer as he raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Let me think,” he replied sardonically, feigning contemplation. “You sneak onto my ship, lie to me, and conspire to inflict bodily harm upon me –”

“Bodily harm?” Sakura cut across, rather boldly despite her widened eyes. “Where's your evidence, Mr. Tsukiyune?”

Tsukiyune's eyes glittered.

“I'll procure it right away,” he assured her. He turned to his security guards and jerked his head authoratively. A large rolled-up piece of paper was handed to him. He took his time unrolling it and scanning its contents quickly before flinging it in Sakura's direction with a casual flick of his left wrist. Sakura didn't even blink as she caught the paper, her face expressionless, and began to read its contents. Syaoran glanced at the scroll from where he stood.

It was the guest list, containing the names of all the people Tsukiyune had invited to the party and their escorts. And, right in the middle of the list, were two names both circled in red.

_Taro Maeda; acc. Kasumi Maeda_.

Sakura looked up at Tsukiyune, rather unimpressed.

“It's hardly a death threat, you know,” she commented lightly.

Tsukiyune wagged a finger at her patronizingly.

“Don't use that tone with me, young lady,” he warned, a shifty smirk settling on his face. His eyes were cold and triumphant behind his slim spectacles. “That little gun concealed in your clutch won't do you any good against me or my men.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow, and Tsukiyune took a step closer to where she and Syaoran stood, alert yet calm at the same time.

“I've had my eyes on you two, ever since I checked my guest list this morning and found these two names on my list,” Tsukiyune said leisurely, almost carelessly. He plucked the guest list from Sakura's fingers and studied its contents again, his eyes glinting.

“I'm a popular man, I know,” he said with a tilt of his mouth. “But I'm usually good with names. So imagine my surprise when I decided to double-check my guest list this morning and find _two names_ on here that _I've never seen in my life before_.”

“How curious,” Sakura replied tartly. “But we did receive invitations, otherwise how else would we have gotten on board?”

“That's what I'd like to know,” Tsukiyune answered slowly, regarding Sakura and Syaoran levelly. They gazed at him back, both more tense than outwardly perceived.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Syaoran spoke up, and there was a small frown on his brow as he examined the sprawling guestlist. “But this can't have been the first time you checked your guest list and found names that you didn't recognize -”

“Actually,” Tsukiyune corrected, with a dark look coming into his eyes, “it is. I usually never double-check my lists. That's what assistants and secretaries are for, you know? The ones with all the records and contacts at their fingertips?”

“But then,” Syaoran continued, “just out of curiosity, why would you bother double-checking today?”

Tsukiyune eyed him interestedly before his lip curled.

“I'm cautious about revealing such details without a guarantee of confidentiality,” he began ( _Uh oh_ , Syaoran thought dryly), “but as I'm assured that not a word will pass through either of your lips, I'll choose to divulge. As it happens, I received an intriguingly cryptic message from an anonymous well-wisher. One that instructed me prudently, yet urgently, to check the names of all the people boarding my yacht tonight.”

_Anonymous well-wisher?_ Sakura and Syaoran exchanged a momentary glance, with identical expressions in their eyes before Tsukiyune's voice interrupted their wordless communication.

“No more of that! I'm only going to say this once, after all...” He paused, chuckling to himself as if he'd made the wittiest of private jokes. Clearing his throat, he ambled on in his sinisterly smooth voice. “Where was I again? Ah yes. So there I was, poring over the guestlist much as you two are right now. As for what Taro said earlier – except that's probably not your real name, is it? You look much too Chinese, much too Chinese...”

He stared at Syaoran, who met his gaze easily.

“Hm,” Tsukiyune cleared his throat irritably. “Well, never mind. Let us continue calling you Taro, for as good as my memory with names is, it is obvious that your acquaintance will not last long enough to merit _two_ names, Mr – Maeda, was it? Anyway, back to the story, my story! As I was saying, you were right: I did happen to find a few names I didn't recognize, and yours were among them. I wasn't too worried at the time. I was sure that my secretaries had bungled things up as usual, sending out three hundred and ten invitations when I'd specifically ordered only three hundred... Not that I was upset or anything, you know. I'm wealthy enough to feed another country, so what's another ten people to me?”

Syaoran didn't like the ease with which Tsukiyune was talking. There was something base hidden in each nuance of his soft voice. It sounded as though he was toying with them, luring them into a state of false confidence in order to catch them off guard. The men surrounding them had relaxed their hold on their guns, but the guns were still pointed in his direction. Yet Tsukiyune continued, all the while, talking idly and subtly, drifting off course onto meaningless tangents and rambles.

There was something unspoken here and Syaoran was acutely aware of it. A leak. There had been a leak of information. Someone had tipped their quarry off; had just as good as informed him of their arrival. This was something that had never happened to him before, yet there he stood, experiencing his first true taste of deliberate sabotage.

It was a chilling experience, as he sensed rather than saw Sakura's fingers tightening around the scroll of paper in her hands. He remembered how, five years ago, she had been present before the Field Commanders with the report of a security breach. Now, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he fancied he knew how she had felt back then.

“...I sent the names to my people and they got on it, informing me who they were exactly and what connection they had with me or my company. Funny, that the majority of them were just affiliated with distant connections of the stockholders or other people that I've never seen in my life! Whatever, like I said, I didn't mind paying for a few new faces, as long as I knew they were friendly.”

A twisted, thin-lipped smile spread across his face as Tsukiyune regarded the couple before him. There was a sudden chill in the air as, on the upper decks, music began to play softly.

“But there were two faces I still could not account for,” he continued in barely more than a whisper, though his voice was almost pleasant. “And what bothered me was that none of my assistants – not _one_ of them – could neither enlighten me of your identities nor remember sending an invitation to your residences at all. Interesting, isn't it?”

Silence met their ears as he paused, taking time to ponder about which portion of his narrative he would take up next.

“I had just instructed my assistants to remove your names from my guestlist when the most curious of coincidences occurred,” Tsukiyune said, a gleam coming into his dark eyes. “On the inside cover of today's newspaper was an article about some enterprising company in America. Swallow Enterprises. And its CEOs? Taro and Kasumi Maeda.”

His eyes bored into Sakura's emerald ones first, before shifting over to Syaoran's.

“A coincidence indeed,” Sakura muttered in a low voice.

“Hardly,” Tsukiyune scoffed. “That article got me thinking. Logically speaking, the entire situation made no sense to me at all. After all, I remember the names of the lowliest newspapers who covered my niece's wedding six years ago. If I had encountered someone running a company like Swallow Enterprises, with the potential to become a lucrative partner in business, than wouldn't I have remembered him? Or her? Or wouldn't at least _one_ of my assistants have been able to recall contacting you for the most minimal of correspondences? But there was nothing...no hint that you were known to me or any of my affiliates. It was as though the world was unaware of your existence, as though you existed nowhere else but in those papers.”

He lapsed into pensive thought, his gaze slack yet still focused on Sakura.

_He's playing his cards carefully_ , Syaoran noted darkly. _He hasn't even mentioned that he recognizes her for who she is – who he thinks she is._

“Then what?” Sakura asked, as the silence lengthened uncomfortably.

“Then I did what any man with resources would have done,” Tsukiyune replied abstractedly. “And _this_ is where the interesting part starts. I contacted _Telegraph_ headquarters, asking to speak with the journalist who wrote the article. But – and this is where I began to scent the beginnings of some sort of conspiracy – I was informed that that journalist had never set a foot inside the paper's property!”

Of course, Syaoran and Sakura were perfectly aware that the article placed in that morning's issue of the _Telegraph_ had been written by a CLA technician in Asia, but they never, _never_ expected Tsukiyune to find out about it...

There was a look curiously akin to amusement on Tsukiyune's face as he watched carefully for any changes of expression on Sakura's face, or in Syaoran's eyes. Seeing none, he continued.

“Well, that certainly piqued my interest, let me tell you that. A journalist writing an article for a newspaper when he – or it could have been a she, for all I know - wasn't even employed by the said paper! Was that even possible? But I thought to myself, maybe it was just a guest writer and perhaps the people I'd spoken to at the agency were complete buffoons... There were plenty of explanations to the matter. So I decided to take another step up.”

He glanced at Sakura and Syaoran, who still stood in front of him, motionless, expressionless. Their eyes, their postures gave him no hint as to what they were thinking. His mood turning sour, he continued onward with a slightly caustic smile.

“I got in touch with my contacts,” he began, “at the NYSE. Just to to investigate. But – imagine this now – my queries were null and void. My contacts had never even _heard_ of Swallow Enterprises, _or_ of Taro and Kasumi Maeda.”

Syaoran went very still, while Sakura silently shifted her weight. Both tried to process this one fact: that their fictional company had not been registered with the New York Stock Exchange, as had been detailed on the mission plan. It was no longer a matter of leaked information. Someone had gone out of their way to make sure that a part of their cover remained incomplete. This was no longer a mere security breach. This was betrayal.

“If you didn't know who we were,” Sakura ventured, quite boldly, “then why did you let us onto your boat?”

Tsukiyune clucked his tongue, as a parent might do to a naughty child.

“Think,” he enunciated carefully, a crafty look entering his eyes. “I get a mysterious tip-off this morning practically warning me against you two. I find a mysterious article about your company, written by a nonexistent reporter about a nonexistent company. Wouldn't you have been curious in the least about the identities of two such elusive and – did I mention? - _mysterious_ people?”

His gaze sharpened as Sakura opened her mouth.

“Don't answer that,” he instructed frostily. “I'm a bit disappointed at how easy this was, to simply sit back and lure you two into my trap. But that's exactly what I did. I sat back, watched my guests board my yacht in my cabin along with my head of security – you know, I had the entire thing on closed-circuit surveillance. I had my men buzz me the moment you two arrived – I'd put your names on red alert, to warn me of your arrival and to help me keep a better eye on you two.”

“Fascinating,” Sakura muttered. Syaoran noticed a gunman flex his fingers against the trigger and, as discreetly as he could, gave his partner a warning glance. She fell silent.

“Brilliant, isn't it?” Tsukiyune breathed, his eyes fixed on Sakura's not with his previous furtiveness, but with a new, greedy light of triumph. “I knew you were after me for some reason, but I didn't bother seeking you two out. What would be the point in that? From what I knew about you – or didn't know, for that matter – I suspected that you were after me, for some reason. So, I sat back comfortably and watched you two this entire evening try come to me. And once I knew that _you_ were involved -” he gave Sakura a wintry smile, “-I knew I had to be on my guard. I knew I had to work fast to stay on top of the games, because by the end of this night, only one of us is going to be alive.”

He smirked at the two of them, surrounded by gunmen.

“And it's going to be me.”

“Wait,” Syaoran said suddenly. Tsukiyune's eyes were drawn to him carefully. Syaoran was visibly more relaxed than Sakura, but his eyes were cautious and his hands were clenched tight in his pockets. He also stood a good inch taller than everyone else on the level, and the proportions of his build suggested that he was well capable of doing whatever he set his mind to.

Tsukiyune's only response was to raise an eyebrow and nod slightly, indicating that Syaoran continue his thoughts aloud.

“You can't possibly expect to get rid of us this way,” Syaoran reasoned, indicating the circle of guards that surrounded him and Sakura with a casual jerk of his chin. “You're a strategist, a clever planner. You would never resort to something as crude and inefficient as a firing squad. That would be a stain on your ego. If you wanted to eliminate us, you'd do it by yourself, with your own hands. A method that would require stealth and careful, careful planning...”

He trailed off, and Tsukiyune let out a short bark of laughter.

“He's good!” he exclaimed. “If I could clap, I'd be applauding you for your brainpower, young man! From where _did_ you pick him up, my dear, and why? I'm willing to bet it wasn't for his skills in the classroom.”

Syaoran's amber eyes met Tsukiyune's black ones easily.

“Go on,” the older man challenged. “Stealth, you said? Then tell me. What did I do, to ensure that you two would never survive the night?”

“Poison,” Syaoran said easily, confidently, with a slight quirk of the mouth. “You poisoned my Merlot with aconite powder, a toxin so acute it would have had me killed in half a second.”

“But you're alive and kicking,” Tsukiyune observed dryly, his functioning arm coming to rest on his chin. “What happened?”

“You underestimated us,” Sakura spoke up, her eyes flashing. “Aconite's only needed in very small concentrations. You only needed half a grain. But it was obvious from the amount of powder that you put in his drink that there was poison in it.”

“And aconite powder has a very distinctive taste,” Syaoran added. “I'd have known the moment I put it into my mouth.”

“Hmm...” Tsukiyune seemed absorbed in thought, beginning to pace as he digested their words. But, Syaoran noticed with a sinking feeling in his gut, the bespectacled older man didn't seem relatively unsettled by this – setback. Not in the least. There was a strange look in his soulless eyes, but it was far from defeat or even discomfort.

“And you, young lady,” he said suddenly, turning to Sakura. “You drank your Malbec quite freely, I saw -”

“Don't even try that on me,” Sakura responded easily. “I know poison when I taste it – and that wine was clean.”

“Are you sure?” Tsukiyune asked slowly, a sly grin spreading across his face most unsettlingly.

“Of course I'm sure,” Sakura snapped, but there was an edge to her voice that had not been there previously.

“She would have tasted it in the wine,” Syaoran said, frowning at Tsukiyune's sinisterly cheerful face. “Or scented it. There's no one in the business who's better at it than her.”

“What business, I wonder...?” Tsukiyune breathed, staring him down. “But you have no time to answer me, I'm afraid. You have more pressing matters to deal with. Especially you, young lady.”

“What do you mean?” Sakura demanded, trying to keep her mind calm and even, though her heart had skipped a beat at Syaoran's steady praise. _There's no one in the business who's better at it than her..._

“What if I was to tell you that my real target was elsewhere?” Tsukiyune suggested innocently, with a generous dose of acid hidden in the softness of his voice. “What if I were to inform you that the Merlot was merely a test to distract you two while I made my move elsewhere, and that you've got it backward: that you two have sorely underestimated _me_.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Tsukiyune?” Sakura spat, sick of the man's games and schemes.

“Your wine,” Tsukiyune elucidated as his eyes glittered. “You downed enough of it to make an impact.”

“Oh, a hangover,” Sakura retorted sarcastically. “I'm terrified.”

Tsukiyune chuckled.

“Oh, not quite, not quite,” he murmured. “But I'm sure you'd prefer the hangover to the iocaine powder I had placed into your wine. _Scentless_ , _tasteless_ , iocaine powder.”

His words hung ominously on the air.

“What?” Sakura asked, her face carefully composed, her posture stiff and alert.

“Iocaine powder,” Tsukiyune explained, unpleasantly genial. “I trust you've heard of it. If you haven't, maybe you should look it up while you're still able -”

“I'm afraid I have more pressing issues,” Sakura shot back. “Like how to eliminate you from this picture for good before you continue playing your little mind games. Iocaine powder in my wine? Did you honestly expect me to fall for that bluff?”

“Don't believe me?” Tsukiyune asked disarmingly, spreading his left arm open wide. “You can take your chances then. Wait another twenty minutes, thirty even. The pain should hit your abdomen just about then.”

Sakura froze, her eyes meeting Syaoran's. This was a vital mistake, because they missed Tsukiyune's subtle gesture, motioning the dozen men around them into action. The next thing they knew, each of the guards had shelved their rifles and pounced upon the two fugitive guests with their bare fists.

Syaoran sprung into action fast, sending a guard flying halfway across the deck with a well-executed kick before the others even reached him. Meanwhile, Sakura sent her fist flying into the face of a guard who charged her, and ducked as two others came flying toward her out of nowhere from opposite directions and crashed into each other with a sickening thud.

There was a split-second, during which either of them could have escaped, but the moment vanished as the two of them were surrounded by eight men and sixteen flailing fists. Sakura crossed her arms in front of her face, blocking punches and uppercuts to her head and using her legs to kick, trip, and immobilize those around her. An extra pair of arms would have been useful, but Syaoran was preoccupied, his legs planted firmly to the ground as he used the heels of his hands to knock his opponents unconscious. He glanced behind himself and saw Sakura dwarfed by three men. He registered one dealing her a terrible blow to the back of the neck, saw her shoulders jerk and crumple slightly -

It was as though all the switches in his mind had turned off, except for one. _Get to Sakura. Now_.

With nearly superhuman speed, he crashed through the wall of men barring his way, and drove an elbow into the back of the man's skull, creating an opening just big enough for a small child to fit through -

“Get out of here!” he called to Sakura, who could recognize half an opportunity when she saw one. With lightning-fast speed, she charged into the opening Syaoran had created, and in a trice, she had disappeared.

Syaoran, relieved for a moment, was brought back to reality painfully as a boot came thudding into his face with full force. Temporarily blinded, he stumbled back a step, before his training took over and he drove a blind arm into the neck of the man who had kicked him. He sensed the man falling, sensed the other men falling around him. There was noise, chaos, yelling, Tsukiyune's voice shouting commands, but he shut them out as he raced through the opening he had created. One foot landed on someone's arm, the other crunched horribly against another's nose, and before he knew it, he had escaped the mêlée.

Tsukiyune merely stood there, frozen to the spot as he observed the wreckage caused by the two agents. The best of his security force was incapacited, most of them sporting broken bones or bloody noses. One of them couldn't move his left arm, from a considerable blow dealt to the collarbone.

“Sir?” Tsukiyune's head of security, a timid little Frenchman, bobbed at his side. “What do we do?”

“They're separated, aren't they?” the rogue aristocrat murmured, stroking his chin repeatedly.

“Yes, sir,” the Frenchman replied uneasily.

“Split up the security personnel and patrol every single corridor on this boat,” Tsukiyune commanded. “I want units of six guarding every exit off of this boat – but discreetly, you hear me? There is a party going on, after all.”

“Yes, sir,” the Frenchman answered, bowing his head briefly. “Is there anything else you need?”

A shrewd light came into Tsukiyune's eyes.

“Tap the phone lines and survey all broadcasting wave signals,” he said softly. “I have a feeling our quarry might try enlisting some help from the outside.”

“Yes, sir,” the Frenchman answered again. “Units of six patrolling every corridor and guarding every exit, and survey for broadcasting signals. What about the targets? Do we pursue them?”

“No,” the corrupted businessman ordered. “Simply patrol the corridors. If they show themselves, shoot to maim, not to kill. Bring to them to me when they are found. Understand?”

The Frenchman bowed in compliance and left, issuing barked instructions left and right. The deck cleared slowly, leaving no sign of disturbance save the dents on the wooden floor and the scent of blood in the air.

Thirty minutes. He would allow the two of them thirty minutes to get off of his yacht. That was all the time they had, before the iocaine poison began to act on the woman's body. It was a challenge, and he would love to see the pair try to escape when they were weakened and separated, their every route off of the boat guarded and their every communication monitored.

The chase was off. Tsukiyune was smart enough to know how to utilize his resources wisely. He wasn't about to exhaust his men by sending them on a wild-goose chase after a nearly invisible quarry. All he had to do was to guard the exits, and they would come into his hands sooner rather than later. There was no later for the woman, at any rate.

“You can hide,” he mused, his words carried away by the night wind, “but can you run?”

* * *

Syaoran moved quickly, his legs carrying him across the lower deck of the yacht as speedily and silently as a fleeting shadow. He cursed himself silently as he found no better recuperation spot than a small, carefully concealed room hidden behind the staircase on the lowest level. He was careful enough, however, to plant enough false trails to keep his pursuers busy for a while. Nothing too obvious, though. It was easy enough to disturb a few doors, or mess up a few carpets, or simply allow a few drops of blood from his profusely bleeding nose to spatter on the ground before odd places.

He ducked into the small room, closing the door behind him. Well, it would have to do for now, he thought as he sank down among the rows of white lifejackets and bright orange life preservers. There would be plenty of time later on to deal with the considerable DNA evidence he had just left all over the boat. Right now, his primary concern was to get himself – and Sakura – off of the boat.

It was amazing how a few short minutes of revelation could suddenly make the entire mission appear utterly insignificant. Syaoran didn't even have time to replay the entire evening's events in his mind, to examine his actions and observe for any errors that he could not afford to repeat, or remedy any weaknesses he may have rashly given away in his haste. Right now, his entire focus was concentrated upon one thing:

How to take stock of this entirely unprecendented turn of events.

It was one thing five years ago when Sakura's identity had been known to her target before she even had the chance to apprehend him. It was another for the two of them to have been so blatantly outplayed by their target: for their appearance to have been not only anticipated, but _countered_.

_What's worse_ , Syaoran thought grimly, staunching the flow of blood from his nose, _is that Tsukiyune isn't even behind all this. Someone orchestrated this deliberately. Someone wanted us to fail this mission_.

The question was – well, there were several questions to be asked – no – _demanded_. First of all, _who_? Who could be behind this? It wasn't Tsukiyune, that was for sure, because he had admitted to being tipped off by a mysterious “well-wisher”. Next, _how_? How could this person know enough about confidential Association missions to be able to sabotage it without anyone realizing? How could this nameless, faceless entity have enough resources and contacts to be able to pull such a tight net around not only him but Sakura also, without being detected? And the last, but most definitely not the least question to ask was... _why?_ Why would anyone go out of their way to interfere with their plans? Why would they invest so much time and effort in order to breach the CLA's security system not once, but several times over?

Syaoran couldn't fathom the answer to any of these questions, but all the same, he was prepared to bet that this same well-wisher of Tsukiyune's was the exact same one who had tipped Hayashi Takiyama of Sakura's whereabouts and her full identity five years earlier.

It could be concluded then, that whoever this person was, he or she definitely did not like Sakura at all. Unfortunately, that left Syaoran with precious little to set store by, as little as he knew about Sakura's growing list of enemies those past six years since.

A loud thump somewhere overhead brought Syaoran immediately back to the present dilemma he was in. He was trapped on a boat, with armed men following him, virtually every exit blocked, and his partner nowhere in sight, potentially wounded or maybe even _dying_. His thoughts turned to Tsukiyune's chilling, parting words.

_Don't believe me? You can take your chances then..._

A shiver went down his spine. Syaoran got to his feet, placing an ear to the door, listening and feeling carefully for any movement. The sooner he got out of here and found Sakura, the sooner they could get off this boat. He had a feeling in his gut that assured him, with astounding certainty, that once he found Sakura, they could accomplish the impossible.

Provided, of course, that Tsukiyune _had_ been bluffing and that there really had been no poison in Sakura's wine. If _that_ happened...Syaoran didn't even allow himself to follow that particular train of thought. He didn't know why. He had dealt with many a case with a mortally injured partner before, so why couldn't he face the very real possibility that Sakura may have been poisoned and dying?

He shook his head, slowly opened the door, and slid underneath the stairwell, becoming no more than a gleaming pair of amber eyes floating in the shadowy darkness.

Now, where to find Sakura...?

* * *

At that moment, Sakura was being pursued by two men, who were giving her the chase of a lifetime. Swearing under her breath, she slid behind a door and, as her pursuers drew nearer, slammed the door into their faces, knocking them to the ground and dazing one of them. Not pausing for breath, she slipped away, dashing up a staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She paused for a second at the landing before seeing a guard standing a good three feet away from her. He was facing the other way and she took advantage of his turned back by stepping away as silently as she could, and sliding through a pair of silver double doors.

She found herself in the kitchens: a brightly lit, chaotic and noisy place of hissing stoves, roaring ovens, and many mirrored counters. In the hustle and bustle of the twelve chefs putting the last touches on the main courses and the servers carrying trays back and forth, Sakura was able to slip through the room unnoticed, her heels barely sounding on the linoleum tiles (a feat possible only by trained Associate members) and slide down quickly behind a counter, her back resting against the smooth metal. She judged that she was safe enough for the time being, lost amid the raucous chaos of the kitchens, and wondered whether any security would attempt to search the kitchens...

The mouthwatering aromas of Cordon Bleu cooking made her stomach rumble, but Sakura had other matters at hand. She had made plans before, and she would be damned if she let Tsukiyune get in her way again. This was a slight setback, but one that could be easily remedied. She had connections that nobody knew about, not Tsukiyune and definitely not even Syaoran.

She pulled out her cell from her clutch (which she had miraculously been able to cling to during her flight around the yacht), and dialed the number she had called earlier.

“I don't have time,” she said into the mouthpiece in soft, curt Japanese. “I need to get off ASAP.”

There was a moment's pause.

“Service exit. Take two,” she instructed sharply, before hanging up and sliding the phone into her clutch. There was little time. She needed to find Syaoran as soon as possible and they needed to get off this boat if they wanted to live.

Unconsciously, she patted her stomach, reminded uncomfortably of Tsukiyune's taunts just minutes earlier.

_Wait another twenty minutes, thirty even. The pain should set in just about then..._

She shuddered, leaning her head back against the counter. For a moment, she felt her strength slipping away, as though all the energy had slipped out of her, leaving her too exhausted to move her limbs.

_Enough_ , a voice in her head snapped, and the exhaustion disappeared.

Sakura snorted inwardly. She had heard of this happening before. Sometimes, an adversary would plant an idea of impending mortality in the heads of their quarry, simply _frightening_ them to death. The particularly weak-minded were susceptible to such bluffs, being easy prey to complicated mind games. Some, invincible on the field and in their respective areas of strength, were all too ready to believe in their own death, believing themselves poisoned and convincing themselves that the slightest natural response to a situation was a sign that their body was failing.

Sakura was smarter than that. She knew that her exhaustion was a result of sparring with a security squad and outrunning a pair of army-trained men in five-inch heels. Not an effect of iocaine poisoning. She wouldn't allow herself to weaken slowly under Tsukiyune's psychological hoax. She had too much at stake.

The doors to the kitchen slammed open, louder than usual, and Sakura's head snapped up. Her eyes shifted to the mirrored surface of the cabinet door in front of her, which gave her a good view of the entrance to the kitchens. Sure as rain, there were six guards entering the kitchens and – she swore under her breath and already started to scramble away – one of them was heading directly to the counter she had been hiding behind.

_How do they know I'm here?_ Sakura wondered emphatically, slipping through the maze of counters quietly, on all fours. She knew she had left the one guard at the counter by the door, but there were another five she had to be aware of. And – she drew back quickly, curling into a ball between two counters as a pair of booted feet walked across her line of vision. Daring to move a muscle only after she saw the feet turn into another row of counters and ovens, she slipped out and resumed her careful navigation of the kitchens.

“What do you mean, an intruder in the kitchens?” one of the chefs was yelling now, distracting the guards from their task. Sakura sped her pace, crawling quicker as the scullery exit came into view, not two aisles away from where she hunched on all fours.

“ _Zere_ is no intruder in _ze_ kitchens!” another chef protested in a thick French accent. He was quite close and obviously waving a ladle around, because Sakura immediately felt a few boiling drops of – she hoped it was soup and nothing more – land on her shoulder. She stilled, her heart beating painfully fast.

“You are disturbing us and our progress!” the chef continued to rant in his accented voice. “ _Zere_ are over three 'undred guests on _zis_ ship and _zey_ are waiting for _zeir_ dinners! If you cannot help us cook, _zen_ you must leave immediately!”

_Yes. Please leave_ , Sakura prayed, scrambling around a corner and ducking behind the side of a warm oven, her back to the exit. Her eyes fell upon an open cupboard directly next to her, and – slowing her breathing to a calm rate – she saw that the doors of the other side were also open, providing her with a small but fast shortcut to the next aisle of counters – the one leading straight to her escape door.

Hiking her dress to her knees and wrapping her train around her waist so that it wouldn't catch, she slowly, cautiously slid into the open cabinet, thankful for once that her small stature allowed her to fit through the tiny, cramped space. Holding her breath, she shifted her weight to her arms and knees, and carefully crawled out the other side of the cabinet -

“ _Zut!_ ” someone two feet above her swore as a large chef's knife clattered noisily to the ground, inches away from where her hand was. But it was enough to startle Sakura; she withdrew herself back into the cabinet quickly, knocking a large silver bowl out of the cupboard. It clattered loudly as it fell onto the linoleum kitchen tiles.

Sakura swore as she grabbed the bowl with her hands, but the damage was done.

“There she is!” a voice shouted, and Sakura stiffened, flexing her limbs in preparation to meet whatever came flying her way. She still would have the advantage if a guard came to meet her face to face, and her position made gunfire virtually impossible -

A shot rang out and Sakura sucked her breath in deeply as the mirrored surface of the counter across from her cracked. Mouth dropping, she saw her own reflection staring back at her in pieces and understood that the guard had spotted her reflection.

Adrenaline lending godlike agility to her limbs, she grabbed the silver bowl in her hands, slid out of her cramped hiding spot in one fluid motion and was on her feet running for the scullery exit before she was spotted.

“After her!”

Something hurtled toward her and Sakura reflexively brought the metal bowl to the side of her thighs. The bullet bounced off the side of the bowl harmlessly.

“Fire!” a voice commanded.

Sakura was two inches from the door when the guns opened fire.

_Fuck_.

* * *

Syaoran, crouched in the small dark space between the wall and an ornate grandfather clock, stiffened as he heard something horribly like gunfire open somewhere on the level below.

It seemed as though Tsukiyune's men had found her before he did.

Syaoran closed his eyes, clenching his teeth together to keep himself from cursing out loud. That was it for her, they'd taken Sakura and they'd kill her right there -

“What on earth is that sound?” he heard a woman inquire anxiously as she passed by.

“Welding joints,” a rough male voice answered civilly. “Apparently there was a weak spot all along the bottom level so they're working to reinforce that. It wouldn't be safe for you to go there right now, madam...”

Syaoran snorted as the woman excused herself and glided up the staircase to the upper deck. The guards had thought up a useful excuse to account for the questionable sounds their pursuit was making. Now Sakura was caught, maybe even dead, and there wasn't a bloody thing he could do about it -

The guard passed in front of him, engrossed with murmuring something into a static-filled walkie-talkie. Seizing his chance, Syaoran thrust his legs out, tripping the guard soundly.

“What the...?” the guard panted, before Syaoran's fist came smashing into the side of his head, dazing him. With grim-faced efficiency, Syaoran pressed a thumb into the back of the guard's head, silencing him.

He paused with bated breath for a moment. After hearing no one rushing to the aid of their fallen comrade, he crawled out of his hiding spot and patted the guard down. Relieving the unconscious figure of his gun and walkie-talkie, he crawled back into his hiding spot, tuning into the communication waves bouncing back and forth between Tsukiyune's men.

“ _...the girl has been lost, I repeat, the girl has been lost. Over._ ”

Syaoran's heart nearly stopped beating for a moment. _What_?

Another voice sounded on the static-filled radio.

“ _Commander to 23. We need details immediately._ ”

There was a slight buzz as the line quieted for a second, during which Syaoran thought he would keel over from suspense. What did they mean, _the girl was lost_? Had Sakura managed to escape them?

“ _The girl escaped_ ,” the voice of presumably guard 23 answered. “ _Caught her in the kitchens and opened fire, but she escaped near the banister_. _Over._ ”

Syaoran closed his eyes with relief, beginning to breathe again. So she was safe. Of course she would be safe. She was Sakura. She was meant to survive. _They_ had to survive this night. They had too much unfinished business with each other, and they had to sort it out before they died...

“ _Commander to Unit Five, Commander to Unit Five. Do you read me?_ ”

Syaoran closed his eyes, his ears tuned to the conversation as his hands experimentally examined the gun he had pinched from the unconscious guard lying by his legs. It was a good gun. Small, light, good balance -

“ _The target is headed to the lowest level, starboard side. I repeat, the target is headed_...”

Syaoran's ears perked up. Sakura was headed to the starboard side of the lowest level? How did they know?

_“_... _made a phone call ten minutes earlier to a cell phone near the Thames. Broadcasting the intercepted phone signals..._ ”

Moments later, Syaoran frowned as he heard a voice that was unmistakeably Sakura's, speaking in curt Japanese over the radio.

“ _I don't have time. I need to get off ASAP._ ”

Syaoran's eyes widened as another voice, foreign to his ears answered. Now _this_ was a detail he had not been banking on. Simultaneously thanking Sakura for her foresight and cursing her for making her plans so public, he got to his feet and planned his route to the starboard side of the lowest level.

He kept the walkie-talkie on, just to stay informed of the guards' positions on the boat and any possible sightings of Sakura.

He also kept the gun. Just in case.

* * *

Sakura groaned as she shut the door of the darkened lower lounge, curling behind the pillar in the middle of the room and keeping as low to the ground as she could. There were plenty of windows through which she could be spotted at any time, but she figured she was safe enough to catch her breath for a moment or two before sprinting the last leg of her jaunt to the service exit, located on the starboard side of the lowest level. She needed to rest for a moment though. Her feet were in agony from running in her painful shoes, her thighs and arms were burning, her throat was parched and she was lightheaded and dizzy from fatigue.

Being on the run was no stroll in the park. Even for an experienced Agent-turned-fugitive-promoted-to-Commander like her.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, wincing as a sharp pain pierced her side. Fighting images of Tsukiyune's face leering at her and thoughts of a painful death by iocaine poisoning, she clutched the stitch in her side and hunched over slightly, trying to assuage her oxygen-starved muscles...

“May I join you?”

Sakura let out an involuntary exclamation as the horribly familiar voice spoke not two inches away from her ears. Her eyes shot open to see Keiro Tsukiyune, seated immediately beside her against the pillar with his dark eyes fixed intensely on her. She scrambled away from him, jumping to her feet in a defensive stance once she was a good distance away from him. What was he doing there? Had he come to finish her off, or could she buy herself some more time?

“You've done well so far,” Tsukiyune commented, interrupting her flow of thought as he rose slowly and fluidly to his feet. “Better than I expected, actually. I'm surprised that you're alive and chipper. It _has_ been thirty minutes, you know.”

Sakura glanced at him, alarmed. _Thirty minutes already?!_ she thought wildly. _I'm running out of time!_

“I told you before, Tsukiyune,” she said through gritted teeth, taking another step away from him. “Your mind games don't work on me.”

Tsukiyune tilted his head to an angle, examining the young woman standing before him.

“What does, then?” he asked softly, taking a step closer to her. “I don't seem to know what you want, my dear. You came to me tonight and I'm pretty sure your intentions are the same as they were six months ago.”

Sakura pursed her lips, trying to still the painful pounding of her heart in her chest. So Tsukiyune had finally lain the cards on the table. He had just as good as admitted that he remembered Sakura from her previous attempts to kill him. While she and Syaoran had already assumed so, hearing it confirmed before her made matters ten times more uncomfortable than they already were.

“How?” Sakura asked suddenly, in a bid to distract Tsukiyune as she took a fraction of a step backward, toward the door behind her. “How could you know? How can you still remember?”

Sakura was expecting Tsukiyune's eyes to gleam craftily. She was expecting triumphant smirks and boastful tales of omniscience. So when she saw him grimace visibly, she was more than intrigued.

“I'd've been happier if I could tell you that whatever you mixed for me was useless, Mizune,” he grunted, and Sakura flinched as he used her old alias freely. “Unfortunately, thanks to those _things_ , my mind was clearer than a blank slate. Couldn't tell up from down or black from white. It was terrible. I was confined to my room, my arm paralyzed and my mind surely on a similar path. Things looked bleak for me, but I couldn't think. I was sedentary, vegetative. For a while, I think you had accomplished your goal after all. I wasn't dead but I was as close to it as I could have possibly been.”

Sakura watched him, her eyes confused. She didn't have to ask for any more clarification, because he continued his reminscence immediately.

“Then one day, my doctors received a parcel containing a half-dosage of medicine. For my limb, it said. I'm not sure what possessed them to give it to me - and I swear that incapacitated or not, I would have sued their lives twice over if anything untoward had happened – but amazingly, it began to work wonders for my mind.”

“What?” Sakura whispered, unable to believe it.

“I know,” Tsukiyune supplemented wryly. “Shocking, isn't it? You waltz into my house and mix up a narcotic so potent, even the best of the best doctors on this hemisphere can't do a thing about it. Then, all of a sudden, some mystery parcel from some lab arrives with the very antidote to all your efforts. I sympathize for you, my dear.”

Sakura's shock compounded as she struggled to absorb yet another unwelcome revelation, perhaps the most disturbing of all. Someone had not only informed Tsukiyune about their arrival and deliberately left their cover incomplete, but he or she had also managed to keep a tab of Sakura's actions _before_ she had rejoined the Association! Not only that, but this mystery agent had also known exactly which drugs Sakura had mixed and administered to Tsukiyune. Never mind the fact that this person also knew how to prepare remedies to the concoctions that Sakura herself had designed – formulas that were unknown to both the CLA _and_ the Aconite mafia! The fact that this unknown traitor had gone the distance and actually delivered the remedy to Tsukiyune's door spelled more than sabotage or betrayal. This spelled danger – not for the Association, but for Sakura herself. Someone had taken the effort to track _her_ – not the other Agents of the Association, but _her_.

“You don't know who sent it to you?” she asked weakly, her voice low and hoarse.

Tsukiyune shook his head.

“No, I do not,” he replied somewhat ruefully. “Not to say that I didn't try, though. But all I had was the name of the manufacturer. Vallier Laboratories.”

Sakura's brow furrowed.

“Vallier Laboratories,” she repeated hollowly. The name was useless. She had never heard of this lab or of the name _Vallier_. How could this place have exploited her every move so easily?

Tsukiyune regarded her levelly. Sakura realized with a start that he was barely a foot away from her, and that she had unconsciously backed herself up against the door.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked suddenly, springing to her guard. Too late, as it would seem.

“Because it doesn't matter,” Tsukiyune replied quietly, his voice filled with hidden venom and an equal dose of lust. “You came here tonight to kill me. I know that much about you. But this time, I was ready for you. I outplayed you and your pretty boy of a partner. You were a better adversary than I expected, to be sure, but there can only be one possible outcome. Your time is almost up. I have turned the hunter...”

He smiled cruelly at Sakura, whose hand clutched to the ornate doorknob of the door she was backed up against.

“...into the hunted,” he finished savagely. He lunged for her. Sakura braced herself for impact as she turned the doorknob and pushed against the door.

To her horror, it was locked.

Moments later, Tsukiyune's body crushed into her own. Winded, she gasped for air as she felt one of her arms pinioned in a vicelike grip. He was leaning in close to her, his mouth attacking her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders...

Blinking the stars from her eyes, Sakura kicked upward, her knee aiming for a certain tender area of his. To her dismay, he trapped her leg between both of his firmly. He offered her a bestial grin before his functional hand worked its way up underneath her long green skirt, caressing the smooth skin of her slim legs toward her waist -

_Passing comfort zone_ , Sakura thought to herself grimly. Gripping the doorknob tighter and adjusting herself so that all of her body weight was balanced between her arm and her leg anchored between Tsukiyune's own, she lifted her free leg and swung it across with as much strength as she could summon. It crashed into Tsukiyune's side with a sickening thud. Both were caught off balance and tumbled to the ground in a mess of flailing limbs.

Sakura got up first, jumping to her feet and sprinting the length of the lounge to the closest door when it burst open. Guards carrying guns filtered into the room, surrounding the perimeter of the lounge silently and efficiently.

She didn't even have time to think as, once again, she found herself set upon by the best of Tsukiyune's security force. Two men barrelled right into her, and she allowed them to tackle her to the ground. Remembering a trick she'd learned in field school, she tucked her legs into her chest, placed the soles of her shoes (which were painfully sharp stiletto heels, mind) into the solid, square abdomen of the guard clambering on top of her, and sprung her legs forward. Both men flew off of her. One landed on a wooden chaise, fell over backward and smashed a glass coffee table to smithereens. The other crashed into another guard, who tumbled over and knocked another three men to their feet. Before the other men could charge, Sakura was back on her feet.

Her eyes fell on the open door, blocked by three men, who were equally spread out and each nearly seven feet tall. Already calculating her odds, she missed Tsukiyune's soft command and started when they relaxed their offensive stances. Preparing to charge through them and midway through gauging the distance between their solid figures, Sakura was rudely interrupted as a hand grabbed her roughly by the arm and spun her around.

Tsukiyune's face filled her vision, as he cocked a gleaming silver gun and placed it directly in the centre of her forehead. Two men held her arms in place, and even as her mind continued to process her odds and avenues of escape, a part of her quailed involuntarily that this might indeed be the end for her.

Tsukiyune's face contorted into a pleasant smile.

“Any last words?” he inquired, unable to resist a final bite at his prey.

Sakura forced her breathing to slow, begged her rapidly pounding heart to calm down and willed some semblance of strength into her aching, exhausted limbs. She couldn't believe that after all this time, after all she had been through, she had finally been outmaneuvred. She couldn't believe that after braving inhuman odds and enduring what no mortal should have endured, she was going to be killed by something as mundane and unglamourous as a bullet.

She struggled for breath as, unbidden, amber eyes filled her vision. Her breathing quickened, despite herself. A surge of indignation and anger flared within her. Syaoran was out there somewhere, waiting for her so that they could escape. She couldn't die now. Not before she got him out of this mess that she had created. It was her fault. She couldn't leave without settling the debt. She couldn't leave before she told him that -

A tidal wave of intense pain hit her just then. She let out an agonized cry of pain as she swayed alarmingly on the spot. The hands capturing her arms in place let go of her abruptly, and she fell forward, landing on the man who held the gun to her forehead.

He caught her by her hair, examining her pale, clammy face and clouded eyes with a slight frown.

“Well,” he observed, his face inches from hers, his eyes noting the dilations of Sakura's pupils so that her eyes appeared black rather than green. “That took its time. No matter. The pain should be intensifying quite rapidly right now. Am I correct?”

His question was answered as Sakura collapsed onto her knees before him, her arms wrapped around her abdomen as she hunched over. Her entire body felt like it was on fire; the pain was building excruciatingly. There were no words to describe it. Her consciousness was dimming, giving way to the pain. The world was swimming around her and her insides writhed like snakes.

One thought was clear, however. This type of pain could not be caused by a gunshot wound to any part of the body.

All other thought was erased from her mind as Tsukiyune's foot connected with her lower back with a spiteful kick. Crying out, she fell on all fours. The ground lurched beneath her and she scrambled to hold her balance, to not simply give in and fall limp against the ground, an unmoving corpse.

Tsukiyune bent down, grabbing her by her hair and lifting her head so that his eyes could meet hers.

“I never lie,” he said in a dangerously quiet voice, filled with hidden triumph. “You should have heeded my warnings. Because the poison has spread too fast with all your running and jumping. You should have stayed still and died quietly. You should have listened to me, because I could have given you a second chance. _You could have lived, Megumi_.”

His words were forming incoherent echoes in Sakura's mind, and her eyelids fluttered shut. She forced them open, struggling to fight the blackness as it threatened to overwhelm her.

“But what would a worthless whore like you know about living anyway?” Tsukiyune spat contemptuously, pulling her head further back. “You've been governed by the dollar and the pound since before I met you. Maybe I did you a favour by liberating you.”

Sakura let out a low, sickly moan. It was a horrifying sound, one that sent shivers up the arms of most men present.

Tsukiyune's expression changed as he gazed at Sakura's feverish eyes interestedly. His lip curled as he observed the signs of acute suffering that passed over her face.

“Be that as it may,” he continued silkily, “this is not over yet. I still have to find that other man somewhere on my boat. Who is he? Your husband? Your man-whore, maybe?”

Rage filled Sakura, and summoning inner reserves of energy, she tried to lunge at him. Her efforts were futile however, as he tugged on her hair sharply and brought her crashing to the ground, utterly spent.

“Hmm,” he mused, eyes glittering merrily. “Well, I'd have loved to finish this off myself, but then again, I do have a party to host after all! And what kind of host would I be if I didn't drop in on them from time to time? Especially as they should be serving dessert just about now...”

His words were lulling Sakura into the most seductive of slumbers; a deep dark unconsciousness from which she could possibly never escape.

“Oh, I'll be back,” Tsukiyune assured her, his voice sinisterly gleeful. “I'll pop by in a couple of hours, just to check up on you. Now, don't you worry. You'll last until then, with plenty of time left to go. It'll take _ages_ to get rid of you; poison can only go so far, don't you know? Ah, but we all have to die at some point, young Megumi. There's no point in mourning your fate – no pun intended, of course. I'll be there with you, at the very end, so that you don't have to die alone at least. I'll watch you die, helpless and vulnerable on the floor, a complete failure to the end. It'll be...fun.”

He let go of her hair and she collapsed onto the ground, facedown. With a new spring in his step and a light of cruel mirth shining merrily in his eyes, he motioned for his guards to exit the lounge. He made as if to follow them, but then paused at the doorway.

“Oh, and we'll be guarding the starboard exit _very_ carefully,” he said delicately. “Can't afford a rescue, now can we?”

With those words, he left and the door swung shut behind him. It closed with a forbidding thud.

Sakura lay on the ground, her energy completely drained. She struggled to get to her feet, but it was impossible because she couldn't even move her limbs. She was disoriented, dazed, incapable of rational thought. All across her line of sight were visions of poisoned red wine, Tsukiyune's cold mocking smile, and, strangely enough, Syaoran's panicked amber eyes.

_Syaoran_...she thought dimly, wondering if he could ever forgive her for dragging him into this mess.

As her eyes closed and she felt herself succumb to the blackness, she prayed that whatever remained of her strength could somehow reach Syaoran. He needed to get off this boat safely. He needed to live so that maybe one day, he could look back on the very short time he had shared with her and perhaps, with a bit of probing, finally realize what it was she had never brought herself to say out loud...

Moments later, the blackness was complete.

* * *

The lower starboard deck was deserted. Tsukiyune's head of security sighed into his walkie-talkie. He and his unit had been waiting there for nearly ten minutes, hidden in the shadowy darkness beneath the stairwells and awnings. He had been radioed by Tsukiyune himself, who had informed him smugly that the girl was out of action. All they needed now was to eliminate the man. And that highly coveted task fell to him.

He stifled a shiver as the wind blew past him coldly, ruffling his hair. This was ridiculous, he thought to himself as he adjusted his silencer for what seemed like the hundredth time. From the display he had seen earlier, it was obvious that the man they were after was highly trained and very clever. Besides, it had taken half of the security force and a good dose of lethal poison to finish off the girl, who was probably as elusive a target. How on earth were they expected to kill the man by sitting there like petrified geese?

The radio clipped to his belt let off a crackle of static, and the Frenchman pulled it to his mouth.

“ _Has the target appeared yet?_ ” asked the voice over the speaker.

“Negative,” the head of security muttered. “Any updates?”

“ _Unit Eight found 14 unconscious, near the main level landing_ ,” a new voice filled in, slightly breathless. “ _14 had no arms and no communication. He looked like he'd been attacked_.”

The Frenchman paused. A guard had been attacked, left comatose and stripped off his radio and gun. There was obviously only one logical explanation.

“The target has 14's radio,” he said, straightening up. “He must be near his body. There's no way he could get to the lowest level if he was on the opposite end of the main level.”

“Sir?” A guard at his side inquired curiously. “What do we do?”

The Frenchman sighed.

“Regroup at main level,” he said into the walkie-talkie. “Make sure all the staircases are guarded. We can't afford to get him down here. And keep him away from the lower levels.”

“ _Roger_ ,” affirmed the voice over the radio, followed by complete silence.

The head of security belted his radio and flipped his gun in his hand.

“Well?” he asked his unit impatiently. “Head up to the main level, on the double! Go!”

His unit of six men got up stealthily and jogged to the staircase. Within moments, all seven of them had cleared the lowest level of the boat. It was dark, quiet and completely deserted.

Except for one prone figure lying listlessly in the darkened lower lounge. And she wasn't one to detract from the silence or the stillness.

A minute passed by. Maybe two.

Then, silently as the shadow of a wraith, a figure climbed over the side of the deck and slid smoothly onto the solid deck floor.

Syaoran kept his knees bent, ready to dash for cover if he was spotted. His luck was definitely in his favour though, as he scanned his surroundings through slitted eyes and discerned that no one was in the area.

He knew that the service exit was nearby, but he wasn't looking for that anymore. Plans had changed slightly, now that the guards knew that he was eavesdropping on their communication. With luck, he had managed to lure them away from this area of the boat. But he'd have to be quick.

His matter of top concern at the moment? Finding his partner, of course. He'd managed to hear something about the lower levels and had immediately climbed down six levels of deck railings. It was a risky job, but what was survival without risks?

“Come on,” he muttered through his teeth, peering about himself carefully for any sign of her. “Where are you?”

* * *

At that precise moment, Sakura's eyes flickered. The darkness was fading from the inside of her skull, but the pain wasn't. She muffled a groan of agony as she dealt with gaining consciousness slowly. Her entire body felt like it had been attacked by sledgehammers; every inch was pummelled with throbbing, pulsating pain. She couldn't even open her eyes, because they felt too heavy. But she was able to voluntarily twitch her fingers.

That was a good sign, she thought vaguely. The poison hadn't spead to her brain yet.

Slowly, she was able to flex her hands, and then her toes. Gritting her teeth in order to stem the scream of pain that threatened to emit from her throat, she inched herself off of the floor slowly. Very slowly.

She couldn't balance enough to manage walking, but she was able to get onto all fours. That, at least, was a blessing, considering that it had been over forty minutes since the iocaine poison had been introduced into her system.

Willing herself to move her muscles, and steeling herself against the effects of the toxins destabilizing her body, she crawled millimetre by millimetre toward the closed door. She remembered Tsukiyune standing at it, his words still ringing discordantly in her ears. She was aware of the very real possibility that once she passed through the door, there would be guards there, waiting to shoot her down. But it was a chance she was willing to take.

And it certainly beat lying down and dying a slow, agonizing death.

Focusing only on placing one hand in front of the next, and moving at her own slow pace, she made her way across the lounge. Feeling in control of herself for a moment, she chanced rising to her feet as she neared the door. She straightened for a moment before the world spun crazily around her and she collapsed onto her knees again, stars whirling before her eyes.

_Door_ , a voice urged clearly in her head, the only lucid thought in her mind.

Sakura blinked through unseeing eyes. The door was right in front of her, and then it wasn't. It was swimming in and out of focus, sometimes a foot away from her, and at other times too far to reach...

Her hand stretched out, trying to touch it. Her every fibre of being was focused on it. She needed to open it, she needed to escape – she needed the damn door to open because she couldn't hold her hand up any longer!

As if in answer to her meditations, the door slid open slowly and lazily. As though someone on the other end had pulled it open cautiously, afraid of what might have awaited inside...

_Syaoran_? Sakura thought immediately, as the world stopped turning for a few blessed moments. Her eyes flitted to the stretch of hallway visible beyond the door. As far as she could see, there was no one there.

_It's a trap_ , her mind told her, but she was past comprehension. She struggled to her feet, ignoring the mounting pain and dizziness as a fragment of hope flicked within her. The door was open. No one was there. Maybe – just _maybe_ she could get off the boat before she dropped dead.

She staggered to the doorway, clutching to the doorframe as though it was a lifeline. She gazed around her. The hallway was deserted, void of any human life whatsoever. Relief flooded her. No one could hunt her. No one could see her escape...

_But who opened the door?_ She asked herself.

The sound of shoes carefully treading upon the ground met her ears. She stiffened, aware that her legs were giving way and that she had to move fast if she wanted to survive.

But then her eyes caught sight of the approaching figure, moving fleetingly toward the lounge as though it too, did not wish to linger. Then, its head turned quite suddenly, facing where she leaned against the doorpost unsteadily.

Sakura found herself rooted to the spot by those widening amber eyes.

“Li!' she tried to call out. What emitted from her vocal chords sounded nothing like that, but it was enough. He didn't need telling twice as he appeared in front of within moments, solid, real, and very, very much alive.

Sakura wanted to burst out laughing or crying at the same time, but didn't know what to do. As though reminding her insistently of its presence, a jolt of electrifying pain numbed all the sensation in her limbs. She felt herself falling...

A strong pair of arms caught her, and Syaoran stared into her face as he straightened her. She looked terrible. There were bruises forming all along her shoulders, her neck, her face. But what was most alarming was her extreme pallor, or the dimness in her feverish eyes. He could barely see the green of her eyes – they were almost black.

“Come on,” he muttered, placing an arm around her waist to support her as she tried to walk. “What happened?”

Sakura started as she focused her energy into walking side by side with Syaoran. She needed something to keep her mind away from the dizziness that was causing her to lean on Syaoran's frame for support more than she would have allowed herself to.

“Poison,” she mumbled.

Syaoran's lips tightened as he quickened his pace. Sakura wasn't so exhausted that she didn't notice that he led her right past the starboard exit.

“Service exit,” she said, stopping in her tracks and pointing to the door in the wall.

Syaoran shook his head.

“Not anymore,” he corrected, walking again with a gentle tug on her arm to get her moving. “You were overheard. They traced your phone signals and intercepted the call.”

“Son of a...” Sakura cursed, in the weakest, most pathetic voice Syaoran had ever heard her use.

He calmed the slow hissing fury that boiled in his veins. Thoughts of grabbing Keiro Tsukiyune and throttling the life out of him would have to wait for another time. Right now, he needed to get Sakura to the front deck as soon as possible.

Tightening his hold on her waist, he braced himself as she leaned more fully on him. He quickened the pace, his other arm soundly around her shoulder, making sure that she didn't stumble or get left behind.

“We're here,” he murmured as he pushed through a door and felt a breeze of salty cold wind blast against his face in response.

Sakura opened her eyes blearily. They were on the very front deck of the yacht: an open patch of deck surrounded by the sky above and the river all around. There was a rope of some sort tied to one of the railings. Her eyes shot wide open as Syaoran pulled her to the side of the deck.

She peered over the edge. The rope trailed into the water, moored to a tiny black motorboat almost invisible in the nighttime darkness.

“How?” she stuttered, turning to face Syaoran with confusion and delight warring on her face. “I told her – service exit -”

“I had to change plans,” Syaoran said quickly, closing a hand around the rope and giving it a sharp pull. “Anyway, grab the rope and get onto that boat. I'll be right behind you.”

“I can't,” Sakura murmured, closing her eyes as she grabbed the rope. “Too weak – might let go...”

“You can do it,” Syaoran urged her, placing his hands around her waist and hoisting her onto the edge of the railing. “You have to. I know you can. Besides, there isn't much time, Tsukiyune could find us here at any minute -”

The sound of the deck door slamming open cut him off. Syaoran's head snapped around, to see Tsukiyune himself standing little less than six feet away. His eyes were wild beneath his glasses and in his shaking left hand was a gun, aiming directly at the weakened Sakura perched precariously on the edge of the yacht.

Syaoran understood in a heartbeat that this was the opportunity that would never present itself again. Feeling his fury and aggression lend strength to his reflexes, he whipped his gun out of his blazer pocket, pushed Sakura overboard and out of sight, before taking aim and firing several times at Tsukiyune. Bloodstains appeared in his chest, his shoulders, his legs, his neck and his forehead, before a hollow click told Syaoran that his chamber was empty.

Before him, Tsukiyune crumpled to the ground, an oozing pile of flesh and pooling blood.

Syaoran could already hear the footfalls of the guard approaching the deck. Quick as a trice, he wedged the deck door shut with the emergency bolt, took the liberty of grabbing Tsukiyune's corpse by the neck and hurling it over the side with grim-faced satisfaction, and finally climbed to the deck railing and dove into the frigid river.

He broke the surface, scanning for the little boat that was approaching him. He swam to it quickly, before his attire grew waterlogged and dragged him to the bottom of the river. The panic at the back of his mind resurfaced as he prayed that Sakura had been spotted and pulled onboard the tiny vessel before -

He didn't need to finish that particular thought as he clambered on board the small deck of the small black boat. He saw the vivid green of Sakura's dress glinting in the soft moonlight even as he straightened and blinked the cold river water out of his eyes.

“Get inside,” a low female voice ordered, and he found himself shoved into a glass cabin alongside Sakura. His eyes roved around the surroundings more carefully this time. The tiny cabin was insulated and warm, though still somewhat drafty. Sakura was lying lengthwise along a bench, a thick blanket placed over her form. Syaoran didn't even notice the blanket that had been draped around his shoulders gently as he made his way to her side.

Her eyes were closed and she was breathing shallowly. The black dye had been washed off partway, so that her back and shoulders were marked with trails of curiously dark water.

“I cut her loose.”

Syaoran turned to face the brunette who had now materialized beside him.

“We're heading for shore right now,” Rika continued, her dark eyes meeting Syaoran's seriously. “I put a good distance between us and that boat. It won't be following us anytime soon.”

Syaoran nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice coming out ragged. “If it wasn't for you, we would never have gotten off alive...”

“Don't mention it,” Rika said, seating herself more comfortably beside Sakura. A small frown crossed her brow.

“What's going to happen to her?” she asked suddenly.

Syaoran closed his eyes, trying to rid his mind of the image of Tsukiyune's blood-drenched body sinking slowly beneath the dark waters.

“We have to get to Dublin,” he said hoarsely. “Within the hour. I don't even know how to do it, but if we don't get there, we may lose her. She's stronger than anyone else I know, but no one who's ever been admitted with an iocaine poisoning has ever survived if the poison was in their system for longer than two hours.”

Rika nodded grimly, her eyes shifting from Syaoran's face to outside the glass cabin. She got up.

“We'll be docking in a minute. Then you can get on your way to Dublin.”

Before Syaoran could question her, she had vanished below deck to manually maneuvre the small boat into the dock. He looked around him. They were in a quieter stretch of the riverfront, away from the glimmering lights of Tsukiyune's party yacht.

Rika reappeared, the boardwalk already set in place.

“We should leave now,” she said, motioning to the exit.

Syaoran nodded, picking Sakura's limp body up as delicately as he could, and slinging her over his shoulders.

“Careful,” Rika warned as he stepped onto the narrow board, Sakura draped precariously over his shoulder.

But Rika needn't have worried. There was no one more capable of bearing her friend's unconscious form than Syaoran Li.

“Where to?” Syaoran inquired, once he and Sakura were on firm ground and Rika had joined them instantly.

“Follow me,” she said, taking up a brisk pace across a darkened street and into a questionable alleyway located between two brick garages.

Syaoran was on his guard, his senses tingling on high alert before a male voice sounded.

“Is that you, Sasaki?”

Rika answered the warm tenor without thinking.

“Yes, and I've brought you two guests to escort on a several-hundred-mile journey,” she replied to the young man now lounging in front of her.

The young man's eyes raked across Syaoran's face before landing on Sakura's motionless figure.

“Is that Sakura?” he demanded, his relaxed manner giving way to anxiety.

Syaoran nodded wearily.

“I'll explain later, but we need to get to Dublin within the hour if we want her to survive,” he offered, too tired and too worried to care about how weak he himself sounded.

The young man turned to Rika, who nodded.

“Get them there fast, Dylan,” she told him. “I'll meet you there in a couple of hours.”

The man, Dylan, nodded.

“Right this way,” he told Syaoran, leading him a further twelve paces before stopping in front of an ordinary grey car.

“Get her in here,” Dylan said, opening the door and motioning inside. “And make sure you two fasten your seatbelts.”

It was a good thing that Syaoran was subdued by his exhaustion, otherwise he might have wasted time asking questions. Regardless, he peered into the car and saw three seats in the front, instead of two. Wondering just how long Sakura had planned this particular mode of escape, he buckled her gently into the middle seat, and climbed in beside her. He had barely closed his door and buckled in when Dylan slid into the driver's seat and adjusted the rearview mirror quickly.

“You buckled in? Good.”

His light eyes swept over them momentarily before he turned the key in the ignition.

A loud roar filled the alleyway. Syaoran winced visibly, wondering how old this car was. Until Dylan stepped on the accelerator.

The alleyway disappeared in a flash, melting into a pool of black, brown and grey streaks. Syaoran felt a force like an insistent hand pressing him into his seat, and knew that this car was travelling at speeds he could only imagine.

“What _is_ this thing?” he called to Dylan. A tad unnecessary, because it was almost quiet in the car at the moment. They were travelling so far, they were leaving sound behind.

Dylan's lips quirked into a smile.

“One of my inventions,” he explained. “I fused a jet propellor onto the back of the mini.”

Syaoran wasn't sure whether this Dylan character was joking or not. Then again, considering that they _were_ travelling at nearly three hundred miles an hour, he decided that Dylan was in most likelihood telling the truth.

“That's incredible,” he said appreciatively. “How long will it take us to get to Dublin?” _And just as a sidenote, how the hell are we not crashing into anyone?_

Dylan thought for a moment, swerving sharply to the right and then back to the left.

“Well, depending on the traffic, about half an hour,” he replied, eyes on the road.

_What traffic_? Syaoran thought dryly, looking at the blurred streaks of light outside his window.

A slight murmur brought his attention toward the unconscious female seated next to him. He watched her carefully as her eyes flickered open, and then closed again.

“It's okay,” Syaoran told her, in a voice so gentle he couldn't believe it was his. “It'll be okay.”

Whether Sakura understood him or not, he wasn't sure. But he was sure that she heard him, because she collapsed against his shoulder, burying her face into his damp sleeve.

When Dylan glimpsed into the rearview mirror, he pretended not to notice Syaoran's arm wrapped tightly around Sakura's shoulders. Instead, he let a small smile play about his mouth and kept quiet.

Syaoran's thoughts were dark as they neared Dublin with each passing second. Now that Tsukiyune was dead and they were off the boat, he allowed himself to dwell on the horrifying events of that evening.

Someone had betrayed them to Tsukiyune. Someone who knew about their mission details and was hell bent on seeing the two of them fail, maybe even die.

Someone who was most likely a member of the Association.

Syaoran closed his eyes, his mouth tightening into a thin line as Sakura shuddered and he pulled her closer to him. He swore to himself that the first thing he'd do after admitting Sakura into the CLA medical facilities would be to scourge through the list of every Agent and Associate involved with this mission. He vowed that he would find the Agent responsible for jeopardizing his life and Sakura's, and when he did, there would be no higher power for that unfortunate individual.

Because until the one responsible was brought forth, no Agent was safe. Every one of the several thousand members affiliated with the Association was at risk, their most confidential information ready to be laid bare before their adversaries. And every ranking individual with enough experience to call himself or herself an Associate had an adversary.

Everyone had enemies. And Sakura probably had acquired the most out of any other them in her short serving time. This wasn't the first time she had been betrayed, but this time, she wasn't alone.

As the lights of Dublin came into view and the car gradually slowed to a stop, Syaoran promised her silently that he would stay by her side until they got to the bottom of this betrayal. Together. As equals.

He owed her that much, at least.

* * *

 


	11. Mystified

 

_**chapter x.** mystified_

* * *

Upon reaching the CLA medical facilities and promptly admitting Sakura there, Syaoran was informed by a slight, pretty-looking young initiate that Field Commander Meiden had left a message for him, to contact him immediately. 

Recognizing, but not liking the clipped, urgent tone of Meiden’s short message, Syaoran had obliged the older man grudgingly, stepping into the secure communications booth and placing an international call to the Headquarters in Japan, which was where Meiden had said he’d be.

It had been a short, rather ugly conversation, in which dutiful pleasantries and vestiges of mustered-up diplomacy could not hide a deep-seated bitterness between the two men.

“Let me get this straight,” Syaoran said slowly, following a short interlude of awkward salutations and hopeless attempts at casual small talk. “You wanted to talk to me because you think I fudged up the details of the London assignment on the database?”

He could be horribly and bluntly to-the-point at times. A trait which did not sit well with Meiden.

“Crude as always, Li,” came Meiden’s wry voice over the speaker. “I was glancing through the records and I noticed that the amount of follow-up you requested following assignment completion was unnaturally large. That piqued my interest.”

“What piques _my_ interest is why you were perusing those records in the first place,” Syaoran retorted, not in the mood to play along with the older man’s attempts to assert his authority. “They’re classified for a reason, you know.”

He could almost hear Meiden beginning to boil on the other end.

“What are you trying to imply, Li?” Meiden asked, his voice light but definitely held under tight control. “It’s not like you to employ subtleties.”

“Oh believe me, I’m not,” Syaoran replied coolly. “I just meant to say that I can’t remember the last time I looked through records on the database just for kicks. That’s all. It’s not like I was trying to incriminate anyone I knew into compromising the state of the Association’s security or anything.”

Meiden spluttered with indignation.

“But since we’re on the subject of the Association’s security,” Syaoran continued quickly, before Meiden could get an angry word in, “I’d like to bring up a serious matter that was brought to our attention while we were in London.”

“I’m listening,” Meiden quipped acidly.

Syaoran took a deep breath.

“We have a traitor in our midst,” he said, as neutrally as he could.

There was a brief pause, before Meiden snorted.

“Your strange sense of humour never fails to disappoint, Li,” he commented sarcastically, but Syaoran interrupted him.

“We were betrayed, Meiden. Someone tipped Tsukiyune off about Sakura and I. He knew all about us even before we could get within a foot of him.”

“Ah,” was all Meiden said before he lapsed into a thoughtful, rather unpleasant silence.

“Meiden? You still there?”

“Yes, yes,” the older man replied absently. “I was just – thinking. I had a feeling something like this would happen.”

“You did? How? How could you not have given us a warning, or anything?”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong,” Meiden said calmly. “All I’m saying is that your story of betrayal and breached confidentiality and whatnot sounds very familiar. It’s something I’ve come to expect whenever Sakura Kinomoto is involved in an assignment.”

Syaoran’s jaw dropped.

“ _What_?”

“Oh come on, Li, don’t you see it?” Meiden asked, with a little laugh. “Sakura Kinomoto is a giant attention whore, for lack of a better word to use. She comes to us, tragic survivor of a tearful past, wins us all over with her sob stories. Then, once she’s on the field, she bungles everything up – well, you would know, being her training officer and all – and then to cover for it, for every single assignment she completes after that, she always brings back some story or other. How she has the hardest assignments, the most inept partners, the most cunning targets. How everyone’s conspiring against her, and how no one in this Association respects her. And now, apparently, how even the most stringent security procedures with which we guard our Agents’ information isn’t enough to stop whatever she thinks is going after her. Face it, Li, she’s a pathological fabricator. Did you honestly think she would come back to us quietly, without trying to make a giant scene of things?”

“You are _unbelievable_ ,” Syaoran hissed through clenched teeth. “Does my input count for nothing? I was there, I saw it with my own eyes. Someone betrayed us to Tsukiyune. This isn’t a joke.”

“Really? Really, Li?” Meiden countered, and to Syaoran’s horror, Meiden sounded _amused_. “Sakura Kinomoto is a proud woman, proud to a fault. She left us in admittedly uncivil terms, and had five years’ worth of time to stew over that. During that time, she also was able to get to Tsukiyune, get enough of his information to incapacitate him permanently. I told you before that bringing her back was a bad idea. I’ll bet you anything that when she heard that the Association _needed_ her back, she couldn’t resist an opportunity to _really_ come back with a bang –”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” Syaoran said flatly. “Sakura wouldn’t –”

“Wouldn’t she?” There was a definite edge in Meiden’s voice now. “It’s just too much for someone to take in. One assignment carried out five years ago, in which Sakura _claimed_ that someone had betrayed her information to the enemy. Then, she leaves. Five years pass without incident, during which _no other Agent registered with the Association_ reports any whisper of security invasions. And _then_ , all of a sudden, just as we take Sakura back on, on her _first assignment back_ , what do we have? Yet another saboteur? You’d have to be blind to miss that pattern.”

“So she went and almost got us both _killed_ on purpose?” Syaoran argued hotly, his voice rising and his temper flaring. “Just how petty do you think she is?!”

“I don’t know,” Meiden replied uncertainly. “But narrow brushes with death are old news when Sakura Kinomoto is concerned. It wouldn’t surprise me if she engineered the whole situation, just to create paranoia and panic, and to win us over to her side unquestioningly. Well, that worked seamlessly well on your account, didn’t it? I’ve got to applaud her on that one, you’re a tough nut to crack, Li.”

“You’re out of your mind, Meiden,” Syaoran spat. “And you have absolutely no right to assume Sakura would do anything you’ve just suggested. There’s no solid basis for your prejudices whatsoever.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Ignore a trend that’s been soundly accurate for the entirety of Sakura’s field record? For what alternative?”

“That there really is someone who’s been compromising vital information to the outside,” Syaoran answered solidly. “That Sakura’s been telling the truth and that we really were betrayed. Whatever it is, the _thought_ of it should be concerning to you, shouldn’t it? Seeing as how we both almost _died_ because of it?”

“That depends,” Meiden mused. “Just how elaborate was this – betrayal?”

“Well, it happened in two parts,” Syaoran explained. “The first was a leak of information directed toward the target. The second was a deliberate omission of assignment details.”

“Interesting,” came Meiden’s bored voice. “Care to spare some more details?”

“Why of course,” Syaoran retorted sarcastically. “Since you’ve been perusing the records on this assignment, I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’ve already made yourself very familiar with the tack we were going to use. So what happened was, we got in contact with Tsukiyune, who initially took us for the Maedas, just as we said we were. But then, later on, he cornered us with a squad of his best men. Said that someone had warned him to check his guest list again, because there were unfriendly names on it. That exposed our names to him in a trice. Then, when he followed up on us using the published article as a lead – well, it was made clear that whoever was in charge of ensuring our cover remained complete did not do their job.”

“What happened?” Meiden asked.

“I can’t pinpoint who was responsible for this entirely, but I suspect it was from the tech department,” Syaoran said slowly. “At any rate, our cover hadn’t been made for us. At all. When Tsukiyune made phone calls inquiring about us, no one intercepted those calls. When he searched for the company we presumably ran, he found nothing, because no one had created it. And then when he looked us up on the New York Stock Exchange, he found no trace of us, because no entries were made. So obviously, he was able to figure out that it was a hoax." 

“That is quite odd,” Meiden acknowledged slowly. “However, it isn’t an unprecedented case. A miscarriage of information between departments, or maybe a last-minute reassignment of cases, could be a possible explanation for why your cover wasn’t made.”

“But the tip-off?” Syaoran demanded. “Someone told Tsukiyune about us! And that on top of our cover not being formed – it’s too much to be an accident, Meiden.”

“But enough to suspect that someone betrayed you?” Meiden asked sceptically. “In spite of knowing full well the consequences and the way we treat those who breach Association regulations?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Syaoran said, with emphasis. “Think about it. I mean, if it had just been an incomplete cover, it would have just looked like an unfortunate accident on the tech department’s side. A complete omission of all the technical backup we’d requested on file, on the other hand, just looks plain suspicious, even if you forget about the fact that someone went and _told the target that we were coming for him_.”

“It is a ground for suspicion, yes,” Meiden conceded. “But for an accusation? You’re going to need more than that, Li. Personally, I think it was just a giant blunder on the techie’s part. You have full authority to look into the matter though –” 

“Right,” Syaoran scoffed, his hand fisting by his side. “Of course. ‘ _It was all just an honest mistake_ ’. You know Meiden, that kind of attitude suits the kind of people running every other law system out there – every other flawed, corrupt, ineffectual system there is on this damn planet. But I’d never expect you to share that attitude too. It’s disappointing.”

“You can stand there and insult me all you want, but I will not share your opinion that your assignment was victim to some sort of malicious betrayal,” Meiden seethed, clearly stung.

“So what do you think happened?” Syaoran demanded loudly. “Our techie got reassigned irresponsibly, and at the exact same time, someone just _happened_ to tip off our target about us?”

“That is the conclusion you will have to make until solid evidence proves the contrary,” Meiden said with a ringing finality. “Now, putting the matter aside –”

“ _Aside_?” Syaoran repeated incredulously. “Someone fucking _set us up_ -!”

 “ _Language_ , Li,” Meiden warned dangerously. “Did it ever occur to you that the anonymous caller may not have been referring to you two? Maybe that caller meant to direct Tsukiyune’s attention to shadier characters aboard that boat and –”

“He just happened to find us by mistake,” Syaoran finished sourly. “What a coincidence. I don’t buy it. Someone knew about us. There’s no way –”

“Then perhaps you should use your head and consider the alternative I gave you!” Meiden barked sharply. “Who among us has the greatest cause for enmity and disloyalty to the Association? Who among us had access to the assignment details? _Who among us had the capacity to contact Tsukiyune_?”

“Give it a rest, Meiden,” Syaoran snapped. “You’re still going on about that?”

 “It makes sense to me,” Meiden said stubbornly. “If you’re looking for a possible leak, perhaps you should start with your renegade colleague before pointing fingers at anyone else in the Association.”

 “She’s just as much a part of the Association as any one of us!” Syaoran argued. “She has just as much, if not, more at stake –”

“Touching to see how one’s loyalties slowly shift,” Meiden observed. “You could barely stand the girl following her failure of her training mission. Now you’re all over her. It’s enough to make one wonder about what exactly went on between you two, whether it’s enough to warrant another investigation –”

“You know what?” Syaoran bit out, his anger finally getting the better of him. “I think I’ve had enough taste of irresponsible, bureaucratic asshole to last me a good long while. Don’t hold your breath waiting for any of my calls, Meiden, because I’m not going to entertain contacting you until I’m _guaranteed_ to prove you wrong about everything you’ve said to me. Down to _every_ _last detail_.”

Meiden made a noise sounding something like a cross between a sigh and a snort.

 “You’re wasting your time,” he said dismissively. “I suggest you calm your pretty head down, and then get back to work. There’s plenty to do in the Dublin facilities, I was thinking of sending someone over there anyway, so it’s good you showed up there. Once your charming colleague decides to show her holier-than-thou face around the premises, perhaps you should think of putting her in her paces too. That is, if you still think having her around is a good idea.”

“Here’s a thought,” Syaoran quipped, the lightness in his voice accentuating rather than hiding the harshness laden in it. ‘How about you get someone else to do your dirty work for you? It’s been a long time since you outranked me in this Association, so you do what you think is important and so will I.” 

“Outranked you!” Meiden’s tone was like a knife thrust. “You stubborn, insolent _child_. If only you knew – if you hadn’t been Xiao Lang’s son – you wouldn’t be sitting where you are right now, _that’s_ for sure.”

There was a long, charged silence. Both knew that Meiden had, at this point, crossed the line.

“I am here,” Syaoran breathed, “because the Grandmaster deemed me competent, based on my experience and merit. _And nothing more_.”

“Keep telling yourself that, boy,” Meiden retorted venomously. “As if your family legacy had _nothing_ to do with it. Xiao Lang was –”

 “My father was one of the best this Association’s ever had,” Syaoran said coldly. “I know the history between you two. I know how jealous you were of him. Why wouldn’t you be? He was everything you _wished_ you could be. Next to him, you were _nothing_.”

“You self-righteous spoiled _brat_!” Meiden began, but Syaoran cut him off.

 “Your opinions don’t matter to me, Meiden,” he said flatly. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And with that, he hung up with a vicious slam of the receiver.

* * *

Things soured between Syaoran and the rest of the Field Commanders after that. Meiden lost no time in communicating the details between his exchange with Syaoran with the remaining Commanders, with the result that Syaoran found himself unusually undisturbed by his colleagues. He didn’t really care though. He had a lot of work to do.

With Sakura still unconscious in the medical facilities, there was only so much information Syaoran had to work with in his attempt to find the one responsible for jeopardizing the London mission. He knew that communication between technical and field agents was highly secure and very, very confidential. For security purposes, it was never revealed to technicians which agents were involved in their respective assignments, and vice versa. But as a Field Commander, Syaoran had access to a lot of classified information.

He quickly tracked down the technician who had been assigned to build the cover detailed in the London assignment. His search yielded nothing more than an identification number: 17265262.

“Well that’s a _start_ ,” Syaoran muttered to himself. “But who are you?”

He entered the identification number back into the CLA database, where information about every agent was stored. It was by no means an open source of information but Syaoran thought he had the key to bypass all the barriers standing between him and information about his target. 

That is, until his search yielded a message telling him bluntly that he was unauthorized to view such confidential information.

 _What the hell_? Syaoran thought irately, banging his fist on the keyboard in annoyance. _Maybe the Commanders pumped up the security on the database, just in case they thought I was telling the truth_.

Hope swelled in him like a balloon. To try his theory, he quickly entered his own ID into the database, hoping to see the same message flash onscreen again. 

To his surprise, the computer merely asked him some questions confirming his identity, obtained a retinal scan, his fingerprints and his voice patterns, before spitting his own stats back out at him.

 _This makes no sense at all_ , Syaoran thought, frowning deeply. He scanned the contents of the opened file. His full name, date he joined the Academy, academic record, field training details, field record, status in the Association…

“So how is it that the information of a Field Commander is accessible, but that of some stupid techie’s isn’t?” Syaoran asked himself quietly. “What the hell is going on here?”

He exited his own file quickly and thought for a moment.

 _What if someone just made my information accessible?_ He thought, trying to go over the possibilities in his head. _Is everyone else’s information secure, like the techie’s? Or is it open, like mine?_

He began to type in every single ID number he could think of. One by one, files containing information began to open onscreen. Random agents he had studied with in the Academy years ago, rookies he had supervised as a training officer, agents he had been partnered with on various missions, random technicians to whom he had assigned mission details… He even called up his father’s file, coming to attention with a start when his eyes registered _Name: Li Xiao-Lang (late)._  

 _Everyone’s information is searchable,_ Syaoran realized. _Everyone’s_.

On a whim, he typed in Sakura’s ID and his eyes scanned the contents of her file.

It was, by far, the most disorganized file he had seen up until that point. Details about her field record had been changed again and again, so often that it was almost unreadable. Her status had not been changed to _Field Commander_ yet. Syaoran got to work changing that. Upon completing the update of her file, Syaoran was prompted to confirm the details of a file labelled “ _Sakura Kinomoto: Classified Information_ ”.

He hesitated for a moment before accessing the extremely confidential file. Before it opened, he knew it contained very private information about Sakura.

He looked through it, seeing, but not reading the unusually long paragraph under the heading _Birth_ , the several long paragraphs under _Childhood_ , the names listed under _Family_ …

His eyes rested on the names listed for a few moments before reading them properly. He blinked once, twice, before reading them again, carefully this time:

_ Immediate Family _

_Father: Fujitaka Kinomoto (alive)_

_Mother: Nadeshiko Kinomoto (alive)_

_Sibling(s): Touya Kinomoto (alive)_

Syaoran sat very still in his chair for several long moments.

 _What the fuck?_ He thought wildly. _Sakura’s family is dead! Everyone knows that! What’s up with this file? Did someone tamper with it?_

He closed the classified file, saved it, and then opened up a list of all the people who had accessed Sakura’s file since its creation eight years earlier.

There were several entries, listed chronologically by ID number. Syaoran recognized the last one as his own, accessing the file not a minute earlier. The first number on the list belonged to Nakuru, Syaoran recognized, and it had accessed the file on some date eight years earlier. Probably to create the file itself, Syaoran realized.

The number following Nakuru’s belonged to a technician Syaoran recognized by ID number, and it showed up numerous times. The last time it had accessed her file had been five years earlier, around the time Sakura had quit. Syaoran presumed this technician had been in charge of updating Sakura’s field record details.

Scanning the list, Syaoran was about to close the document when he saw something that made him freeze. Blinking again, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he stared at the ID number of the person who had last accessed Sakura’s file before he had.

 _17265262_.

He sat up straighter.

 _What are you doing here, 1725262?_ He wondered, his frown deepening. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he tried to absorb these unsettling facts.

First, this technician’s details were about the only ones in the database that were too confidential to be viewed. Secondly, this technician had clearly accessed Sakura’s classified file, about a month earlier. Thirdly, this file had been edited to read that all of Sakura’s obviously dead family were somehow – alive.

Where to start solving this puzzle?

 _So many questions_. Syaoran tried to rationalize it in his brain. _How did an ordinary techie get access to an agent’s classified files? Why did he want to see them? And what prompted him to access that file a month ago? We hadn’t even thought of calling her back at that point!_

Half an hour later, with a maelstrom of unanswered questions and a sizeable migraine battering away at his head, Syaoran decided to call it a day on the search for the mysterious techie. 

* * *

 

His next priority was to check on Sakura, whether her condition had improved, or whether she’d regained consciousness or not. The tight-lipped doctors at the medical facilities were monitoring her carefully, but even they couldn’t answer his frequent questions.

“We can’t say if she’ll be okay yet,” one of them, a middle-aged man with a prematurely lined face and a pleasant voice, told Syaoran quietly. “If she’d gotten help immediately after the poisoning – well, seeing as she underwent quite a significant amount of strenuous physical activity, the poison was able to spread quickly and easily throughout her entire body. We’ve flushed most of it out, but we don’t know how long it’ll be before it’s all gone from her body. Or before we find out what adverse effects the poison managed to inflict on her.”

“Adverse effects?” Syaoran repeated, his mouth going dry. “What kind of adverse effects are we talking about?”

“Anything,” the doctor said, his light grey eyes sympathetic behind wire-rimmed glasses. “The poison hit most of her vital organs, and thus could have affected any of her systems. I’m particularly worried about her brain. A lot of poison was concentrated there.”

“Her _brain_?”

The doctor nodded.

“I’m speaking in worst-case scenarios here though,” he offered apologetically. “Despite the degree to which the poison penetrated her body, we haven’t seen any physical damage that would present a permanent problem. Her heart is more or less in good condition, she’s breathing a little irregularly but that shouldn’t be a problem. We haven’t observed any major damage to the brain yet, but of course, there’s no telling what sort of neurological effects have taken place until she wakes up.”

“I can’t tell if this is good news or not,” Syaoran commented wryly, schooling his face to not betray the worry he felt inside.

The doctor clasped a hand on Syaoran’s shoulder.

“We’re doing our best,” he said kindly. “I’ve seen Agents in worse condition than her who were up and about in the course of a few months or so. And Commander Kinomoto is one of the strongest people I’ve treated. I can’t say anything in any certainty but ... we’re staying optimistic for now.”

Syaoran nodded wordlessly, staring at Sakura’s prone figure on the bed. Her breathtaking green dress had been replaced with a thin papery hospital gown, its harsh whiteness blending in eerily with the stark pallor of her skin. Her hair, washed clean of the jet black dye, was strewn in tangles about her pillow, the once-lustrous red tresses now visibly dull and lifeless. Her face looked tightly drawn, as though she had aged significantly. Shadows were darkly present under her closed eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. Yet there was a softness about her limp mouth, her gently closed fingers, her slightly-tilted head, that could have fooled anyone into believing her sinister unconsciousness as a peaceful night’s sleep. Syaoran took in the angles of her face, thrown into sharp relief by the facilities’ unyielding white light, let his eyes rest on the IV needles embedded in the crook of her elbow...

“Is she any better today?” 

Syaoran shifted his gaze to Rika, who had come up to stand next to him. Her eyes were fixed on her prone friend, her mouth grim and pressed into a thin line.

“Not really,” Syaoran said heavily. “I just spoke to one of the doctors. He says they still aren’t sure what’s going to happen to her, but they’re not worried. Yet." 

Rika sighed, running a hand through her thick brown hair.

“It’s always been like this,” she said quietly. “Every time. She just throws herself into death’s arms and somehow, every single time she walks out of it unscathed. I just – I just never know when her time’s going to come. When her luck’s finally going to run out.”

Syaoran couldn’t think of anything to say, but the course this conversation was taking was becoming far too depressing for him to reasonably handle. 

“Where’s Dylan?” he asked, in an effort to change the topic.

Rika cleared her throat of the lump that had been building in it.

“He should be on his way here. I think he was looking around for a place to eat or something in this place. But it’s hard not to draw attention to ourselves when we don’t belong here...”

Syaoran suddenly felt ashamed, for not having ensured Rika and Dylan’s complete comfort in the Dublin facilities. Especially while knowing that without their help, he and Sakura would never have gotten off of Tsukiyune’s boat alive.

“Do you and Dylan want to grab a bite with me?” Syaoran offered tentatively. “I mean – I know you’re here for Kin – I mean – for Sakura and all, but maybe if you two want a bit of a break -?”

Rika’s eyes swept over him appraisingly.

“That’d be nice,” she said, her lips curving. It hit Syaoran then that it was the first time he’d seen something _close_ to a smile on Rika’s face. “I’ll call Dylan?”

“Tell him to meet us in the atrium,” Syaoran said. “I think a change of scene would be good for all of us right about now.”

Twenty minutes later, he, Rika and Dylan were sitting in a booth in a very pretty cafe, located in a small corner of the Dublin facilities.

“I’d never seen this place before,” Dylan said, looking around him curiously. “I swear I must have walked around the entire place like twenty times.”

“It’s kind of a big secret,” Syaoran admitted, stirring a lump of sugar into his coffee. “Only the elitest in the Association know about this place.”

“Well we’re honoured,” Rika said dryly, as a waiter brought plates and plates of warm bread to the table.

Syaoran nodded to them once the waiter left.

“Please, help yourselves,” he said.

Rika and Dylan didn’t need telling twice.

They ate in a comfortable silence for a good while, as the waiters brought out course after course of what was surprisingly tasty fare.

It was only as they were sipping coffee and munching on dessert pastries that Syaoran mustered up the courage to ask them a question that had been nagging at him for the last little while.

“How did you guys meet Sakura?” he asked them curiously.

Rika, who had been about to sip her coffee, paused and looked at Dylan, who looked back at her, his mouth full of a bite of chocolate éclair.

“Well...” Rika said slowly, setting her coffee cup back onto its saucer, “Sakura and I went to the same grade school, back in – I think it was the third grade?”

Syaoran’s eyes widened.

“ _Wow_ ,” he said. “That’s a _long_ time.”

“Yeah,” Rika said with a nod. “I remember on the first day of grade three, the teacher introducing her to the class. She looked really scared, as though she’d never been in a proper school before. And she was really quiet too. Kept mostly to herself. I couldn’t understand why.”

Syaoran found these descriptions of young Sakura fascinating, for a reason he couldn’t explain.

“There was a group of us,” Rika continued. “We were all friends. I don’t remember how it happened, but soon enough, Sakura was a part of us. Her mother was really nice too – she would always let us come over to their house and play and stuff. But there was something about Sakura’s home that seemed a little – strange. Sad, almost. I couldn’t put my finger on it, though. No one could.”

She paused, taking a sip of her coffee before continuing.

“Then, when we were fourteen,” Rika said, her voice beginning to darken, “something happened that changed my life forever. I came home one day and found my front door unlocked. When I stepped into my house, I caught a glimpse of my parents lying on the ground, covered in blood – before I saw _someone else_ get up and start toward where I stood. I didn’t even have time to think. I just dropped everything, turned around, and ran away as fast as I could. I just ran and ran until I couldn’t run anymore, until I didn’t even know where the hell I was. I found myself on someone’s front lawn, of a small house surrounded on all sides by quite literally, _nothing_ but forest. It was sketchy, but I was young, and I was all alone and I had nothing. No money, no identification, no nothing. And my parents had just been murdered and I had no other relatives and someone was after me. I hadn’t even entertained going to the police because I just had this awful feeling that the person who had killed my parents would find me too. And I was _so scared_.”

“I’m so sorry,” Syaoran said, as genuinely as he could. “Really, I –”

“I’ve come to terms with it, it’s okay,” Rika said, her eyes downcast. “Anyway, so there I was in the middle of nowhere, when I guess the person owning that small house saw me and offered me a place to stay, a warm bed for the night, a bite to eat. His name was Itou, and he lived with his wife, Chiyo, and his two young sons, Jun and Aki. They were all very nice people. They quickly found out that I was alone with absolutely nothing, and then they let me stay with them. Itou was involved with some sort of gadgetry business – he fixed parts and then sent them off to someone else who put them all together. Anyway, he was getting old and needed a hand, so I offered to work for him, in exchange for staying with him and his family. It was a simple enough job, and I stayed like that for a couple of years, learning as much as I could from Itou-san.

“Then, one day, Itou-san had to make a trip to his client, to deliver something important. He insisted I come with him. So we jumped into Itou-san’s old car and drove for half a day to drop off a few boxes’ worth of specially engineered parts – I didn’t know this at the time, but they were gun parts – to some fellow named Yue.”

“ _Yue_?” Syaoran repeated, not believing what he heard. “As in, the Yue who supplies the Association with most of its weaponry?”

“He had some high-priority, low-profile clients, yes,” Rika acquiesced. “It was probably the same one. He was a highly powerful man. Anyway, so Itou-san and I visited him, and Yue took an interest in me. Said I looked smart and he could use me in some projects he had in mind. If Itou-san didn’t mind letting go of me, that is.

“Itou-san had no objections, and so we went back to his home accompanied by Yue’s man, gathered what few belongings I had, said good-bye to Itou-san and his family, and within a week, I was working for Yue, building specialized weapons and sending them to different places in the world. That was how I bumped into Sakura again, around six years ago? I was seventeen, overseeing the delivery of a rather large shipment of automatics to a client in Montenegro –” 

Syaoran grimaced at the mention of the location, remembering that assignment too well.

“Well, that’s pretty much how we got back in touch,” Rika said conclusively. “Sakura never really told me who she worked for but the next time she got in touch with me, she said she was a free agent, more or less. She’s helped me out of a few tight spots, when dealings with clients went sour, so I help her whenever I can.” 

“That’s a fascinating story,” Syaoran said slowly, staring at Rika in a new light. “And Yue – do you still work for him?”

“Off and on,” Rika said. “I choose my assignments. But there hasn’t been much to do of late.”

“I see,” Syaoran said slowly, an idea beginning to form in his head. “What about you, Dylan? What’s your story?”

“Mine’s not quite as long or as touching as Rika’s,” Dylan said with a small chuckle. “I met Sakura in Buenos Aires, back when the mafia there was in full power. Well, before I met her, anyway, I was just like any other average boy in the area, except for one thing. I had an obsession with building things. Building crazy inventions that could do things one could only imagine – you remember my car? That’s just a taste of what I used to come up with, back when I was younger.

“Well, very soon the mafia got wind of my talents, and they wanted to exploit my inventions for their ends, obviously. So they picked me up one day, held me at gunpoint and gave me a choice: swallow the bullet, or be their slave. It really wasn’t a choice at all for someone like me. I didn’t want to die, so I told them I’d work for them. But they treated me terribly. They kept me locked in a tiny cell underground with no windows and barely any light – just enough for me to do my work. They barely fed me. They were constantly threatening me, warning me what would happen if my creations failed them in any way. It was a miserable, miserable time for me. During those days, I honestly wished I’d chosen to die instead of working for them. It was worse than death, I thought.

“So there I was one day, lying around in my cell, staring at the tire jack I had, wondering if it be more or less painful if I could just end my life right then and there. Just as I’d made up my mind to just pick up the damn thing and end my sorry life, the door opened and – and instead of the usual ugly brutes who would come and bully me, was this young woman. She stood there, squinting at me and the tire jack in my hands, trying to decide if I was friendly or not, I suppose. Then she spoke. ‘ _Get out of here_ ’, she told me. It was the most beautiful thing I’d heard. Thanks to her, I was free.

“I went into hiding with her and Rika, and together, with a lot of help of a lot of other people, we managed to, over a couple of months, dissemble the rule of the mafia in Buenos Aires. After that was done, I was free, free to do whatever the hell I wanted. But I haven’t forgotten what Sakura’s done for me, or what I owe her." 

Syaoran gazed at Dylan, trying to imagine the circumstances the young man had just described. It was incredible, what the two of them had gone through, how their lives had been torn apart and the sheer fortitude they had exerted to survive.

“What do you do now, Dylan?” Syaoran asked, steepling his fingers together.

Dylan shrugged.

“I take on odd jobs, whatever I can do, whatever I can get. I don’t parade my inventing abilities though. I’m just too scared about who might take an interest in me.”

Syaoran nodded slowly, looking from Dylan to Rika, back and forth. 

“I have a proposition for you two,” he said slowly.

Rika and Dylan looked at him seriously.

Syaoran cleared his throat.

“How would you two like to join the CLA?”

His question hovered in the air for a moment or two. Rika and Dylan, as though highly tuned to the response of the other, froze, glanced at each other and then looked back toward Syaoran in almost perfect sync.

“Is _that_ what your Association’s called?” Rika asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “Whenever I asked Sakura what she was doing, or who she was working for, she’d – she’d never say exactly, but later on – I guess she’d left you guys by then – she’d always make mention to some Association or other.”

“Yes,” Syaoran said quickly, nodding. “Well, the CLA’s a top-secret association. No one’s supposed to know about it, except for its members. You can’t really blame Sakura for being secretive about it...”

“I figured just as much,” Rika said slowly. “But what is this Association? What do you do?”

“Well, the CLA’s kind of like a super-secret law-keeping system,” Syaoran explained, trying to keep things as simple as possible. “I – I know it sounds kind of lame when I put it like that, but that’s basically what our mission is. We haven’t been around for that long – this year marks our twenty-fifth year. But our origins were rumoured to have been in the supreme courts of Japan, where some individual – his identity has been kept anonymous for obvious reasons – bore witness to the extreme corruption present in the systems meant to uphold the law. He saw what was going on, the double standard that got in the way of normal civilians’ happiness, their ability to lead a productive, happy life. So he decided to put his considerable wealth into the creation of a very secret society, an Association governed by laws of the strictest and most moral nature. That’s how the CLA came to be.”

“What does CLA stand for?” Dylan asked mildly. “I’ve heard it mentioned again and again, but I’ve never figured out what it stands for.”

“Oh, CLA is short for the _Canus Lupus Association_ ,” Syaoran said apologetically. “No one really knows the origin behind the Founder’s choice of name. I’m guessing Canus Lupus – or wolf, rather – was some symbol of significance to the Founder – or maybe he just liked the thought of the world’s law systems being protected by some strong silent wolf – I don’t know the symbolism behind it. But yeah, that’s what it stands for.” 

“I see,” Dylan said slowly.

“You know, what you’ve said so far worries me a little,” Rika said with a frown. “Like, I understand where your Founder was coming from. Obviously, there’s a lot in this world that goes wrong and all. But who was this Founder to take civil laws into his hands and start something of his own which completely ignored them? What made him think that he had the right – or the ability – to completely flout these laws, and what’s more, that something of this nature wouldn’t go horribly wrong, as they tend to do?”

“I see where you’re coming from, Rika,” Syaoran acknowledged, “and to a certain point, I agree with you. I don’t know how the Founder managed to get his vision off the ground without corrupting it in some way or other, but I think the heart of the matter is that we don’t live in a perfect world. The laws that govern our daily lives, the system that’s supposed to keep us all in check – they’re not perfect. Our Founder lived in a time where he saw the evillest people in society getting rewarded and the good people suffering, and he realized, like so many others, that there was something very, very wrong with the system, with people running the system. If we lived in a perfect world, then this imbalance in society wouldn’t exist, and everyone would be happy and treated fairly. But, obviously, we don’t and I suppose the Founder recognized the need for something in society that would fight for those too good to fight for themselves.”

“That’s all fine and noble, but it’s nothing we’ve never seen before,” Rika argued. “How many times in history have we seen wonderful things meant for the greater good warp and turn into the things of corruption that they tried to fix in the first place? Wasn’t your Founder aware of the very real possibility of his ideally perfect association turning into something worse than the corrupt systems it tried to correct?”

“Yes,” Syaoran answered. “That’s why the rules and regulations that govern the Association are as strict as they are. The Founder wanted something incorruptible, something that could not yield to temptation and lust for power. He set his ambitions very, very high – he dared to try and create something that was _perfect_.”

Rika snorted.

“So you’re saying that the CLA’s a perfect association?” she asked sceptically. “Never in its operation has anyone ever fallen prey to corruption, or tried to keep things to themselves, or go against orders, or anything?”

“Never,” Syaoran replied seriously. “The Founder – whoever he was – was very thorough, and considered almost everything when setting up the structure of the Association. By keeping it a secret from everyone except for its members, he eliminated those who would join for want for ostentation in society. You can’t brag about being a top-ranking individual in an organization that you can’t talk about. Then, he chose who to induct into the Association _very_ carefully. In order to be invited to join, one _had_ to have been a victim of the evils in society, suffered at its hands considerably. Suffered enough to harbour an innate hatred toward those evils, a hatred that would ensure that those individuals would never ever become what they sought to destroy. But there were other things he looked for too. It wasn’t enough to have simply suffered at the hands of injustice. That was made him notice a potential candidate. But then he had to see other things. Other qualities. These things are easily apparent when you’re victim to something that’s changed your life. Things like willpower, fortitude, a certain inflexibility of personal principles. The ability to hang on to yourself in the face of darkness and adversity, and not lose yourself to it...” 

He trailed off, pausing for a moment. For a moment, he remembered what it had felt like when he had been told that his father had died, that his father had gone and would never come back. He remembered that emptiness, that simultaneously sharp and blunt pain spreading from a region in his stomach throughout his entire body...

“But inducting someone into the Association was only the first step,” he continued, trying to keep the heaviness out of his voice. “Becoming a full-fledged member of the Association requires a _lot_ of training. There are _several_ stages to complete, and progression into the next level of training isn’t determined by time, but rather, by how quickly you take to the lessons taught. That’s why some people clear training very quickly, while others can be in it for years.”

“Sakura’s holding the record for fastest time through training, right?” Dylan asked. “I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

“This is true,” Syaoran agreed, acknowledging for the first time that she had broken his record without any bitterness whatsoever. “She went through training in record time – it took her a little under two years to make it to her first field assignment.”

“Field assignment?” Rika echoed blankly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, training happens in phases, each gradually becoming more and more challenging,” Syaoran explained. “The first set of stages occurs in the Academy. First, you’re taught the principal stuff. The mission statements, the goals of the CLA, the enemy you’re working to defeat. Then you learn the rules and regulations. What you’re allowed to do. What you’re not allowed to do. What you can get away with and what you can’t. What each offense is punishable by – and oh, you’d be surprised to see what simple things you can’t do in this Association. Simple things like withholding details from the database, letting your emotions or personal biases instead of pure reason and facts guide your decisions, or just not taking care of yourself. You can be punished for not trusting your peers, for hiding things from them, for not behaving professionally with them... don’t get me started on the million rules on how to behave with your superiors. Once you’re a member, any relation you share with any other member here is forgotten. Doesn’t matter if it’s your wife, your mother, your son. The only bonds that hold members of the Association together are those of professionalism, loyalty and of course, unity against a common enemy. That’s _it_. Familial ties, deep friendships, physical and emotional intimacy – they’re all _strictly_ forbidden. There’ve been numerous cases in the history of the Association where sexual relations between members have been punished by _horrible_ measures –” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Rika objected. “How can you mete out such a severe punishment on what people choose to do in their personal lives? I’m sure the fact that two members were sleeping with each other wouldn’t interfere with their professional lives –” 

“Oh, but it could,” Syaoran responded, his mouth going dry. “You don’t know the kind of decisions you have to make when you’re on the job. And remember, in order to keep your decisions unbiased and for the good of your charges, you can’t have any deep attachment to your fellow members. And that’s exactly what the rules of the Association enforce. I know it seems harsh, shooting someone for having sex with their colleague, but at the core of it, we just don’t want those kind of attachments forming. It’s safer that way. I’m not saying I agree with it entirely. That’s just the way things are around here.”

“So people around here are too scared to be involved with their partners?” Rika countered, her face a giant scowl. “What if, I don’t know, what if you found the person you were meant to be with for the rest of your life here? You’d just let that slip by?”

“Yes,” Syaoran said. “As a member, your allegiance lies to the Association first. It’s – it’s something you come to understand once you’ve gone through training. Believe me, it sounds harsh listening to it on the outside, but there are issues here, things that have happened in the past that have made things the way they are – until you know about them, about how wrong things can get, you’ll never fully understand.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Rika said, her lip curling. “The amount of discipline necessitated in your Association scares me.”

“A lot of discipline is required,” Syaoran admitted, taking a sip of his coffee. “But it’s for our own good.”

“For your own good,” Rika repeated blandly. “So you’re telling me you’ve never been involved with any of your colleagues before?” 

Syaoran choked on the coffee he had been swallowing. Rika raised an eyebrow.

“I – I – ” he stammered, feeling himself turn _red_.

“I thought just as much,” Rika said coolly, returning to her coffee. 

“No – you don’t understand,” Syaoran tried to rescue himself. “I’ve been in confusing places before – like – any potential I saw was almost always eventually quashed by those rules, sooner or later. It’s just – it’s just too hard to explain...”

“Well you don’t have to justify yourself to _me_ ,” Rika said delicately. “I’m not the one you’ve been leading on for all these years.”

“I – what?” Syaoran couldn’t believe his ears. Then again, Sakura _had_ had five years’ of time to vent her frustration out at her sympathetic friend. It made sense that Rika would know about everything. It made sense that Rika would grow outraged at his statements.

...it also made sense that Rika was now looking at him as though she thought him the biggest hypocrite in the world.

“Would you?” Rika challenged Syaoran. “Would you risk all that? Risk facing all those horrible punishments if they found out, just to be with her?”

“Things aren’t always as easy as you make them out to be, Rika,” Syaoran tried to defend himself weakly. 

“Who said anything about easy?” Rika returned, both her eyebrows raised. “I’m just saying – and you should know enough to have known this already – if you can’t handle a situation’s consequences, then don’t get into that situation in the first place.”

“You’re acting like I forced myself on her,” Syaoran protested, placing both hands on the table. “We both knew what we were getting ourselves into. We both knew what the consequences would be. We both knew where our priorities were...”

“And yet,” Rika observed, eyes blazing, “you both got so hurt.”

“It’s nothing we didn’t expect,” Syaoran said quietly. “Still – you can’t ever really prepare yourself for something like that.”

There was a ringing silence. 

“So what happens after you learn about these ridiculous rules?” Rika questioned, and Syaoran wondered if she was satisfied or not. But he was glad she had chosen to drop the uncomfortable subject for now.

“Uh, after you learn about the rules and regulations, then you learn about the history of the association, and of justice itself. You learn about how the law works, why they contribute to a healthy state of living for people, what every person has a right to have. Once you’re done that, then the real fun stuff begins. Then they teach you to understand the corruption that you’re trying to fight. They show you where in the world, in history, justice has failed. They teach you how to recognize when things are going wrong. And then – this is the hardest part. They show you what the result of these misdeeds is. It’s one of the most powerful and painful experiences they put you through. Trust me, once they put you through that, make you witness the suffering and misery that’s left behind when rules aren’t followed – you can never go back to the way you were. You would never, ever be able to put your own interests above another’s, to further yourself at someone else’s expense.” 

“But it’s okay to kill someone, as long as you can justify killing them,” Rika commented dryly.

“Rika – there’s a lot we take into account when we determine whether it’s necessary to have someone killed or not,” Syaoran said delicately. “It isn’t an easy decision, but in this day and age, we can’t fight injustice without using some of their means. Does it mean we don’t kill at all? No, of course not. I’ve had to kill and maim and do terrible things, but it’s been to those who have done enough damage to innocent people who couldn’t help themselves.”

There was another pause.

“Alright,” Rika said at length, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as though itching to form a sneer. “And once you’re done that?”

“Uh – then after that, you’re pretty much done the theoretical bits,” Syaoran continued. “I’m sure I’ve forgotten some things but what I’ve told you is the gist of it. Once you’ve completed the theoretical classroom lessons, you sit the written exam, which sounds like a big damning deal, but its only purpose is to evaluate how well you’ve absorbed Association doctrine, and whether you can clear to the sorting stages.”

“Sorting stages?” Rika echoed.

“Yeah,” Syaoran said wryly. “It, as the name suggests, is where students are divided into streams, depending on what field they end up specializing in.”

Rika whistled. 

“Just how complicated is this Association of yours?” she asked incredulously.

“Quite,” Syaoran replied. “As a Field Commander, I get the dubious privilege of having to know everything about everything in this Association.”

“So what do you mean by specializing?” Dylan spoke up at last, sounding less suspicious than Rika at least.

“Well, there are two main fields of work for people who’ve passed the written,” Syaoran explained. “Sorting determines whether you become a Technician or whether you become an Agent. Both are remarkably complex and as a member, you’re expected to be competent in both areas, but the further along you go in your training, the more you specialize in whatever position you’ve been sorted into.”

“So Agents do the dirty work, I gather?” Dylan asked with a small grin.

“In essence, yes,” Syaoran said. “They’re the ones who get sent into the line of action. _On the field_ , is what we call it. Technicians are responsible for what you’d call the drudge work – setting up covers, alibis, updating the database, keeping everything clean and untraceable. It’s a lot of work too, a lot less glamourous for sure, but no less important and certainly no less complicated.”

“I see,” Dylan said, and Syaoran could detect the interest in Dylan’s voice.

“So how do they tell if you’re meant to be a Technician or an Agent?” Rika asked.

“Well, first they ask you what you’d prefer, and then they assess you. Trust me, it’s quite easy to tell if you’re not cut out to be a Technician, and _even_ easier to tell if you’re not cut out to be an Agent.”

“What if you’re not meant to be either?” Dylan asked.

“That’s never happened,” Syaoran said flatly. “There’s always some skill that can be brought to the table that we can use. Technicians are involved in so many different functions, it’s almost impossible to count them all. Informatics is just _one_ area, we also need a lot of hands in the laboratories, or in R &D, or –”

“R&D?” Dylan repeated, his face lighting up.

Syaoran smirked.

“It’d be up your alley, Dylan,” he said. “R&D’s responsible for designing innovations, which is why the CLA has access to such breakthrough technology. And – along with the rest of the conversation, this is completely off the record – I think they could use your talents. I really do.”

Dylan raised both his eyebrows and whistled quietly.

“So they sort you and then...”

“Then you undergo training,” Syaoran said. “We call this stage field training, and it’s specific to what your specialization is, obviously. At this point, you’re referred to as an initiate, even though your lessons are still centralized in the Academy. But that’s where you are taught everything you need to know to succeed at what your job will require you to do. Agents require extensive physical training, lessons in espionage, subterfuge, weapon handling, combat skills, and just a _whole bunch_ of other things you’ll need in your arsenal when you’re on the field. Obviously, it’s different for Technicians, depending on where you’re placed, but yes, everyone has to undergo rigourous, rigourous training. After you’re done field training, which _easily_ comprises the lengthiest part of your time at the Academy, you complete your practical exams, which attest that you have mastered all the lessons you were taught in field training, and are ready to undertake your field assignment.”

“That sounds like quite a challenge,” Rika observed.

“Yeah,” Syaoran acquiesced. “See, every step of your education at the Academy is graduated, meant to alleviate the shock of suddenly stepping onto the field for the first time. But the field assignment is the final test of your education at the Academy, and how you fare on it basically determines how well you’ll fare as a Member. The field assignment is your maiden assignment, and that’s where you’re paired with a member of significant experience – called your _training officer_ – and experience actually being on the field for the first time. Technician initiates are often just supervised by a senior Technician for a period of time during their field assignment. The field assignment is definitely more critical for Agents.”

“You were Sakura’s training officer, weren’t you?” Rika asked.

Syaoran inclined his head shortly.

“Yes I was,” he said. “A very long time ago.”

The look in Rika’s eyes told him that she knew a little more about that particular field assignment than he’s have liked her to. But, thankfully, she chose not to interject.

“And – and after you clear your field assignment, you become a fully fledged member of the Association,” Syaoran finished. “There’s room for progression in the ranks of the Association, depending on how active you are and the level of complexity in your assignments, and a lot of other stupid things. Members start off as Amateurs, then the order of seniority goes Junior, Regular, Senior, and then Field Commander. There’s a huge jump between each level. For example, there are only seven Field Commanders in the entire Association, while there are about three hundred Seniors and god knows how many Regulars.”

“And we know two of seven Field Commanders? I think that makes us pretty well-connected, what do you say, Rika?” Dylan quipped.

“Hm.” Rika’s acknowledgement was clearly limited in support. “So say that I decide that I can live with the outrageous views your Association has, and that I’m willing to follow all your stupid rules. Why would I decide to join? What does joining this Association – that no one in the world knows about – and spending good time in your Academy and risking life and limb in your training school and playing with death on that field assignment to disappear into anonymity with the thousand-odd other Regulars here – what do I get out of this at all?”

Her question hung in the air. Syaoran set his cup down on the table very carefully, clasped and then unclasped his hands, and then ran one absently through his perpetually unruly hair. His eyes fixed on hers, seriousness etched in every line and angle of his face.

“What do you get out of it?” he repeated softly, almost inaudibly, and though his voice was quiet, it couldn’t hide the intense emotion laden in it. “You get another chance, the chance that life would be hard-pressed to hand to you by any other means. You get the chance become part of the solution, part of something bigger than yourself, something so much higher that even though it may sometimes resemble the evil it’s trying to destroy, at its heart – and at the heart of every last member associated with it – you know it’s good, and for the good of everyone who’s good on this planet. If that means nothing to you, or if that’s not enough for you, Rika, then you’re right and maybe the CLA just isn’t right for you. But if it does mean something to you – if the chance to stop running away and instead, turn around and help destroy this evil that’s hurting so many people, that’s hurt _you_ so much – if the chance to be a part of that which hunts down and metes out retribution to that which cannot be forgiven – well, then, I don’t think I need to answer your question for you.”

His words, spoken with a strangled frenzy, were met with a ringing, respectful silence.

“Well, that was tastefully dramatic,” Dylan commented at length, breaking the silence cheerfully. 

“Indeed,” Rika said slowly. “Li – I still don’t trust your Association or it’s beliefs, but it’s clear that you do your job with complete sincerity and passion, and I don’t think you’d try selling me something unless you knew with every fibre of your being that it was worth passing onto others.”

Syaoran blinked, taken aback. Rika regarded him carefully before offering him a solemn half-smile.

“And by that she means, we accept your offer, sign us up,” Dylan offered casually.

Syaoran nodded quickly, his lips curving into a small smile.

“That’s amazing,” he said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. “That’s – that’s great. I’ll recommend you to the right people, get you enrolled as soon as you’d like.”

“Can it be after Sakura’s recovery?” Rika asked, her face solemn again. “I – I don’t want to leave until after I get to talk to her, tell her that I’m following in her footsteps and all.”

“Of – of course,” Syaoran said. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else of you.”

Rika nodded, her probing gaze never leaving Syaoran, who felt slightly like he was being X-rayed.

“Thank you, Li Syaoran,” Rika said, bobbing her head shortly in gratitude.

Syaoran nodded, his throat closing up oddly. He thought it funny how winning one stubborn person over had rendered him completely speechless. Then again, he’d just acquired the respect of Sasaki Rika, and he doubted that _that_ happened very often. 

* * *

 

 


	12. Uncontrolled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains explicit sexual content. if this offends you, please skip.

 

_**chapter xi.** uncontrolled_

* * *

The next few days saw Syaoran attempting to tackle the mystery of uncovering the unidentified techie’s identity with a renewed sense of determination. Having given up on hoping to eventually crack the database and extract the techie’s details from there, he began to examine information trails, scouring the lines of communication to and from the tech department for any mention of Technician 17265262. The results of his search revealed to him the location of the computer terminal at which the unidentified technician would be stationed. Hypothetically.

Syaoran scanned the details of the location of the techie’s computer terminal. According to the statistical output of his search, an overwhelming percentage of communication involving this particular technician either originated from or was directed to the computer terminal in question. It was located in one of the Informatics subsets of the tech department in the Tokyo Headquarter facilities.

His eyes narrowed.

_This techie’s located at Headquarters_ , he thought to himself bluntly. _Not that security is any less tight there, but it’s a classic vantage point to mount an infiltration. If that’s what this techie’s responsible for, that is._

Syaoran considered the information he had in his hands, and what he could possibly do with it. It was impossible for him to physically search the technician’s computer terminal manually, what with him being miles away on a completely different continent. Would it be possible to perhaps glean some information about the technicians who worked at that particular facility? Or, even better, have someone perform a search of the technician’s computer terminal, just to see if any suspicious or untoward information was, or had been, present?

_All computer terminals in the tech department are hooked into the database_ , Syaoran remembered from his lessons in the Academy. _So…if I hacked the master account, I could potentially search the techie’s computer from here. There’s no way the techie could have encrypted his computer without alerting anyone else. No way._

Fully confident of this new plan, he made his way back to the Commander penthouse complex, a glamourously comfortable and spacious apartment meant to accommodate up to four Field Commanders at once. It reminded him at once of the penthouse apartment that Meiden and Elden tended to inhabit in the Tokyo Headquarters, except it was more turn-of-the-nineteenth-century-European in design and décor than its Tokyo counterpart, which was rather modern and typical in ambience.

He slipped his shoes off, shrugged his jacket off and dumped it unceremoniously on the ground behind him as he made his way into the living room and flopped onto one of the quaint, cozy couches. His folder, containing what little information he could piece together about the mysterious techie, was placed carelessly on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Syaoran heaved a deep breath, closing his eyes and massaging a temple with one hand absently. It had been exactly one week since he had arrived in Dublin and in that time, he felt like he’d accomplished practically nothing. Apart from convince Rika and Dylan to join the CLA, which was a commendable feat, but not exactly a priority on his agenda. His search to get to the bottom of the sabotage of the London assignment was proving to be more and more difficult with each turn, his invisible quarry more elusive than he’d ever imagined possible. But he figured that he had a physical location to probe. His next step would be to look into how to access a terminal in a distant location. He might have to enlist help from the tech side, although he was wary of disclosing this supremely confidential information with anyone else at this tender stage in the proceedings. If only Sakura was around. He could have used her input, whether enlisting help from someone else at this step would be advisable or wise.

Thoughts of Sakura came to him unbidden. Images of her, lying unconscious in the medical facilities, her face drawn, pale and vulnerable. And other images too, less recent. Of the glowering, rebellious teenager she had been when they had first met, tossing her head casually while standing next to his kicked-in front door. The tightly-controlled line of her mouth, lips pressed together in heaviest concentration while she was thinking, or watching him in action. The same mouth, relaxed and spread into a small smile, eyes modestly downcast and cheeks tinged a faint dusky pink as he’d taken her hands in his, pulled her close to him and buried his head into her soft, fine hair, his mouth forming words against the fall of her tresses softly, slowly. The feel of her smooth skin under his fingertips, her light breathing a moist warmth tickling the crook of his neck, her petite body with its firmness and softness a perfect fit against his own. Sensations, of tenderness and caring and playful happiness and deep passion and the rush as he murmured three words into her ear as softly as he could while she slept next to him, their bodies intertwined and completely spent.

It had been so perfect, he reflected for the umpteenth time. Despite being a transgression of every rule the Associated had written up with regard to interactions between members, he had, for a very, very brief period of time, been happy. Truly happy, when he was with her. It was a happiness he’d never known before. Around her, he felt completely vulnerable and at the same time, confident like he’d never been before. She understood him and he understood her, and she was perfect for him and he was perfect for her…

He should have recognized that it was perhaps too good to be true. And like all good things, it had to come to an end. It was just unfortunate that the circumstances surrounding the failure of that mission had made it impossible for him to defend her, and that, for their own good, he’d had to feign complete indifference to her, and lie to her about everything they’d shared. It had hurt him to do that to her, but he knew that his cruelty was the only thing that could save them both. And he could only pray that if he crushed her then, she would have the strength to recover and move on and forget it had ever happened. As much as it hurt, it was what was best for the both of them. Because, in the end, they were what they were. And that couldn’t be changed.

_…if you can’t handle a situation’s consequences, then don’t get into that situation in the first place._

Rika’s words from earlier flashed into his mind, an unsettling reminder of the situation he had somehow ended up in again. Because as much as he tried to remind himself of the sickening feeling when he had lied to her and told her that he hadn’t really loved her and seen her eyes widen – seen the hurt, the betrayal, the anguish, the _rage_ , the engulfing wave of heartbreak and pain and loss welling in them – he couldn’t forget the moments that pierced the bleakness, no matter how briefly. Hesitant touches. Kisses. Words exchanged that were at once empty and charged at the same time. The first time they’d made love. Hearing her say his name. His hands on her shoulders as he spun her around to show her how beautiful she’d looked in that breathtaking green dress, the ill-concealed fear in her face visible for him to see –

He buried his head in his hands, groaning.

Without a second thought, he had fallen for her. _Again_.

And even though this time they were older, and more careful, and more controlled – it didn’t stop him from wanting her with him at that moment. Wishing she was there with him, wishing she was his, and all his. Wishing for a moment, that life had treated them differently, so that their very existences wouldn’t have been intertwined in the fight between the Association and the danger posed by the Aconites. That they then wouldn’t have to be part of the Association and subject to their stupid rules, but living a life of their choosing, to be free to do whatever the hell they wanted, to make their own choices, to be able to go out on a limb and risk everything for someone who meant the world to them –

The sound of the door opening startled him out of his reverie abruptly. His head snapped to the doorway of the living room, where, to his _utter_ disbelief, a mercifully unharmed Sakura now was present, closing the door behind her, body and head turned away from him.

For a moment, it was as though everything had stopped. He couldn’t move or think. Wave upon wave of relief crashed over him, rooting him to the spot.

_She’s okay…_

She turned around and saw him sitting on the couch, his face shocked and wide eyes staunchly fixed on her.

He jumped to his feet, sensation returning to him as quickly as it had left. In the blink of an eye, he’d raced to where she stood, standing before her and staring at her searchingly.

“You’re okay,” he said quietly, breathing more quickly than usual. His eyes scanned her quickly, taking in every curve of her face, every feature and detail.

“You’re _okay_ ,” he repeated, more forcefully as his eyes registered no change, no permanent damage, nothing at all to indicate that Sakura had been in critical condition just the day before.

Sakura regarded Syaoran levelly, unable to hide the small smile that played about her lips at his reaction.

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice not quite masking the laugh hidden in it.

Syaoran’s arms shot out to grab her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length from him, his eyes still unable to stop searching her face. God, he couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t believe the indescribable elation that filled every corner of him, the sheer relief he felt at knowing that _she was okay_.

“Thank God,” he breathed. “You have no idea – I was – I thought – but it doesn’t really – _you’re okay_!”

“Yes,” Sakura said with a nod. “We’ve established that.”

“Right,” Syaoran heard himself say. “We’ve established that.”

Sakura stared at him quizzically.

“Li, is everything alright?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

Her query snapped Syaoran out of his daze.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his mouth unusually dry. “Everything’s fine. Just fine.”

He let his arms drop to his sides and tore his gaze away from her face.

She gave him a searching look.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Of course I’m sure,” he retorted. “When did you come to? I was going to come see you –”

“Oh,” Sakura said. “I regained consciousness yesterday. But they didn’t let me leave till an hour ago. Rika and Dylan saw me out.”

“Ah,” was all Syaoran said. _She came around yesterday. And_ nobody _thought it was important to let me know. Bitches_.

He didn’t see Sakura examining the expression on his face amusedly.

“What’ve you been up to in the meantime?” she asked.

_What have I been up to?_

“Just investigating the London assignment,” he said offhandedly. “We were betrayed, remember?”

She scrunched up her face, trying to think.

“Yeah, we were,” she said at length. “Sorry – my recollection of that whole mission isn’t fantastic.”

“What do you mean?” Syaoran queried, alarm creeping into his voice.

“Just that –” Sakura struggled to explain. “I mean that the poison affected some parts of my memory. It’s not that significant, I can remember most of it. Just small details are hard for me to remember.”

“Oh.”

Sakura threw him a funny look.

“Should we – sit down?”

Syaoran suddenly realized that they were still standing by the door, and that he was standing directly in her way.

“Yes! Yes, we should,” he agreed, moving out of the way and letting her make her way to one of the couches.

She sat down on the largest one, eyes falling on the folder on the middle of the table.

“New assignment?” she asked slowly.

Syaoran made his way to sit next to her.

“Not really,” he answered, picking it up and opening it up to show her its contents. “Just my research.”

Sakura nodded, sifting through the pages of notes and printouts quickly.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m trying to crack down on the person responsible for betraying us to Tsukiyune,” Syaoran explained. “I identified the Technician who was responsible for covering our assignment.”

“Well that’s good,” Sakura said. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Syaoran replied. Feeling her blank gaze turn to him, he quickly began to elaborate upon the sheer frustration of his search: the dead ends, the strange facts and unanswered questions.

“This Technician tampered with my _file_?” Sakura repeated, her voice rising.

“Yes,” Syaoran said grimly. “Well – the techie accessed your file at an unusual time, which suggests that he did so not under instructions but out of personal motivation. He accessed it before we’d even thought of bringing you back, so it’s not like any of the Commanders would have asked to do a background check on you or something.”

“That’s really weird,” Sakura commented with a frown. “But why did you say that the techie tampered with my file?”

“Well –” Syaoran paused, looking at her. Should he tell her? The topic of her family was sensitive news and it would likely only upset her. Then again, she had a right to know what was written in that file, true or not, no matter how upsetting it was…

“Tell me!”

“Fine.” Syaoran’s eyes locked onto Sakura’s. “The details on your file had been changed to read that your family was still alive.”

There was a stunned silence.

“ _What_?” Sakura breathed, her face turning white.

“Yeah, that’s what it said,” Syaoran said quickly, not liking the way Sakura was reacting. “That your father, mother and brother were alive. But – but that’s obviously wrong, isn’t it?”

“It’s _impossible_ ,” Sakura spat, eyes blazing. “What kind of sick joke is that? My whole family was murdered by the Aconites. _Everyone_ in this blasted Association knows that.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Syaoran said. “I’d – I’d show you if you want to see it –”

“I don’t want to see it,” Sakura said darkly. “That’s just too cruel. Why didn’t you change what the file said?”

“I –” Syaoran faltered at the stony expression on her face. “I didn’t want to, without letting you know at least –”

“Thanks for the consideration,” Sakura said with a small smile. “But you should change it. Please?”

Syaoran met her eyes.

“I will,” he promised, his voice soft.

She nodded.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, her voice suddenly hoarse.

Syaoran smiled a smile different from his trademark smirk. It had been a long time since Sakura had seen a real smile on his face. It lit up his face, bringing out something in him that made him positively _shine_.

“Anything for you,” he replied, his voice softer than a whisper.

There was a change in the atmosphere, as neither Sakura nor Syaoran continued their discussion. Instead, they simply sat there, so close to each other on that couch, and stared at each other, as though seeing for the first time.

Syaoran was very aware of the disconnect between his body and his mind, very aware of his heart drumming in his chest faster and then faster still. His eyes ceased their roving around her face and settled on her eyes.

Sakura cleared her throat, trying to break free of his burning gaze but couldn’t. She swallowed quickly, recognizing the quick heightening of emotions, the building of a tension so great, it would soon be uncontrollable.

She spoke, trying to battle the silence.

“Soyoufoundoutthatmyfilewastamperedwithandthenyou –”

“Shh.” Syaoran shushed her frenetic outpour of words, putting a finger against her lips gently. She silenced immediately, the laugh in her eyes slowly replacing itself with something else, such that when their eyes met, the expression in them matched, and the message in each read the same thing.

Slowly, so slowly, he removed his hand from her lips, and placed it on her thigh. She inhaled slowly, unevenly, her easy confidence fading to a trembling nervousness. Her lips parted slightly, revealing a glimmer of white teeth.

But Syaoran’s eyes still held her own. Still held her gaze as he leaned in closer, until their faces were about a foot apart. His hand was still resting on her thigh, a delicate warm reassuring weight on her soft flesh.

She breathed in sharply, her eyes searching his face for an explanation, willing him to say _something_. _Anything_.

His face inched closer to hers, he was slowly leaning into her, closing the distance so slowly, but so deliberately. His other hand came to rest gently next to his other hand soft on her thigh.

Their noses touched and they both froze. Sakura didn’t want to breathe and Syaoran – Syaoran _couldn’t_.

Their eyes searched each other hesitantly. Sakura’s timid gaze was fixed on Syaoran’s mouth, so, _so_ close to her own. She could feel the warm bursts of air break upon the skin of her cheeks whenever he fought to expel controlled exhale after controlled exhale.

Syaoran’s eyes travelled from her eyes to her mouth, small, open slightly, lips chapped and dry from her time in the hospital. He watched, as though entranced, by the slight motions her lips made as she breathed in and out. As she pressed them together and licked them quickly when her lips were too dry, or when she was nervous. Or both.

She tried to speak again.

“S – I – ”

“Shh,” he shushed her again, resting his forehead against her own, feeling the small tremours that coursed through her form. His own breathing was so shaky, he was afraid to breathe at all.

Her eyes were still fixed on him, wide and fearful. Wondering what he meant, why he was doing this, whether he _would_ actually –

And then she could wonder little else, as he slowly let his lips descend upon hers. Grazing slightly against them at first, before resting on hers in what was a butterfly-light but unmistakable kiss.

She could feel him trembling too, before he removed his lips from her own, pausing to search the expression in her face for any form of protest, argument, question, resistance…

And when he saw none, saw nothing but the uncertainty in every inch of her face, so excruciatingly close to his, he inhaled slowly before touching his lips to hers again, slightly firmer but still so, _so_ gentle.

Sakura let out a small sound, somewhere between a whimper and a hum as he pulled away again, for a fraction of a moment before he pressed another kiss to her lips, this one firmer than either of its predecessors. His hands skimmed the length of her legs, finding her hands on either side of her and closing around them before intertwining his fingers in hers.

She closed her eyes, a shaky exhale coming out through her nostrils as he slowly increased the pressure against her mouth, sucking gently at her bottom lip. She hummed again in contentment, as his hands left her own to encircle her waist firmly.

He broke away again, moving away so that they were nose-to-nose again. She opened her eyes and met his, glazed over with tenderness and affection and desire. The expression on his face was so soft and so caring, it made her weak at the knees a little.

This time, when he pressed his mouth against hers, she yielded straightaway, tilting her head back to let him nibble her bottom lip playfully. Her hands travelled from her sides up, up, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers gently placed against the sensitive back of his neck.

She felt him change the pressure of the kiss, first soft and gentle, then firm, then back to soft as a feather’s touch. Her hands moved further up, raking into his thick hair to tangle her fingers in the tousled locks. She heard him make a sound before his hands moved from her waist to her face, thumbs gently caressing her cheeks, as though memorizing every detail about their texture and curvature. His lips gradually parted hers, the heat and moisture of her mouth blissful against the deliberate movements of his.

Sakura tilted her head back further. His hands moved back down to her waist, pulling her even closer to him as his tongue ran along the slightly roughened texture of her lip.

She felt a slight shudder course through her body as another sound tore itself from her throat. She could feel him slowly tasting the inside of her mouth, touching and caressing the hot wetness. Felt his tongue meet hers, touch and interweave and part, over and over again, the sensation sending something like fire coursing through her veins.

His hands, firm at her waist, moved to graze over her hips, before skimming over her arms to hold her shoulders with a firmness that had been entirely absent in his earlier gentle motions.

They broke away, gasping for breath, their chests heaving up and down as they panted in unison.

This time, it was Sakura who closed the distance between them and kissed Syaoran, opening his mouth with hers and tangling her tongue with his with an insistency and an urgency that had not been there before.

As if her response had been all he was waiting for, Syaoran met her kiss with equal force, his fingers tightening on her shoulders in a grip that would leave bruises on her pearly white skin.

It was like a battle, as they sat there and kissed each other furiously, lips, teeth and tongues meeting and clashing in a frenzy of pent-up frustration and long-suppressed passion, releasing in a dizzyingly building rush. It was frenetic and urgent and explosive, as excitement warred with desire, passion with arousal and need, as jolts of electricity sparked from everywhere they touched.

Her fingers tangled themselves into his hair even further, pulling and playing with the thick brown mess, as his hands travelled the edges of the straps of the simple white dress she wore, skimming over the straps and the fabric forming the back of her dress, before reaching the bow at the back of her waist. She stiffened slightly as she felt his fingers pull at the twin ribbons lazily, until the bow had completely come undone.

Without parting his mouth from hers, he shifted his weight onto hers, pushing on her until they were lying lengthwise on the couch. His form was soundly on top of hers, his hands planted on either side of her face as he propped himself up, tearing his mouth from hers to look at her flushed face. There was a small smile on his face as his darkened eyes took in her heavily-lidded eyes, parted mouth, hair strewn in a mess all around her…

His smile turned into a smirk as her winded expression turned into a defensive one.

“Don’t laugh at me because I look like a mess,” she warned him, her voice tight and husky and very quiet.

He chuckled, shaking his head a little.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers softly once, then twice. “Don’t-” he paused to kiss the corner of her mouth, “-you-” he kissed her jawline, “- _ever_ -” kissed the spot where jawbone turned into neck.

“-worry – about – that,” he finished, punctuating each word with gentle but sharp kisses trailing down her neck.

He could feel rather than hear Sakura’s shuddering intake of breath as he planted a firm kiss against the hollow of her throat. When she let out that small humming sound she usually made when she was pleased, he felt her skin beneath his lips vibrate gently.

He planted little kisses further down her neck, and then across her collarbone. He slowed his pace, pausing to suckle gently and, in some occasions, gently nip at the sensitive skin. He was rewarded by her small yelps, feeling the jolts rack through her body, pinned underneath his.

“Why not?” Sakura asked breathlessly, fighting for the effort to speak. “Why shouldn’t I worry?”

Syaoran moved from her collarbone, climbing back so that his face was level with hers, his mouth inches away from her ear.

“Because,” he said simply, his voice a deep vibrating quell of almost-painful quiet. His mouth moved close, close, so that it was _right next_ to her ear, so that she could feel the expulsion of hot air as he spoke, “you’re fucking _beautiful_ , that’s why.”

Before she could reply, his mouth had already met the skin below her ear, and had resumed pressing a succession of gentle butterfly kisses back down the side of her neck.

Sakura, inhaling and exhaling sharply as her body moved subtly in response to the touch of his lips, let a smile play about her lips.

“You really – _ah!_ –” she broke her sentence with a sharp yelp as Syaoran bit down forcefully somewhere near the rounded swell of her chest, soothing the area with a gentle swirling of his tongue, “-think so?” she finished weakly, breaths turned uneven as his tongue circled lazily around the impressions left behind by his teeth.

Syaoran paused, an exasperated look crossing his face briefly before he raised his head to lock his eyes onto Sakura’s.

“Yes,” he said seriously. “Yes, I do.”

This time, Sakura couldn’t stop the redness from flowing embarrassingly quickly to her cheeks. Luckily for her, Syaoran didn’t notice the giant blush spreading across her face, because he turned his attention back to her neck, lazily tracing with his tongue the outline of the teeth marks he had created earlier. Suckling at the heated flesh gently at first, and then more and more and more forcefully, until –

She let out a moan, soft and strangled, half of it lost in the swell of her lips. But the sound was like music to Syaoran’s ears, as he smiled into the curve of her shoulder and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses there. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, holding them firmly and then gently, massaging the tension out in a slow deliberation.

Sakura inhaled deeply, shakily, the significant rise of her chest evident to Syaoran, who moved his head back to face her once again. He let his heavy-lidded eyes take in the sight of her, eyes closed and head thrown back a little, heavy deep breaths coming in and out of her slackened mouth. A smile broke across his mouth briefly before he kissed her lips again, his hands still kneading knots out of her shoulders.

She tilted her head back still further, letting him take the inside of her mouth completely. The tension in her shoulders slackened as all stiffness evaporated from her body. She was completely pliant in his hands. Completely his.

His hands moved while his mouth still worked hers. She could feel his palms moving across the slope of her shoulders, down the length of her arms to rest at her hips briefly. She bit down on his lip and she felt his fingers dig into her hips sharply in response. Then, his hands moved from her hips to underneath her, resting against the small of her back, where the bow he’d undone had once been.

She felt his fingers trace the chain of the zipper on the back of the dress, moving up, up, up from the small of her back to somewhere in the middle of her shoulder blades. He fingered the small zipper, trying to get a hold on it before pulling down on it sharply.

The harsh sound of metal unzipping metal filled the air. Sakura’s eyes shot open as Syaoran stopped kissing her and opened his eyes, turning his smouldering gaze onto her seriously.

He spoke softly.

“Can I?”

His words hung on the air. Sakura’s eyes widened, but he simply stayed there, unmoving, hand still on the zipper of her barely unzipped dress, eyes seeking permission, his motions at a halt until permitted to move onward.

That was one of the things she loved about Syaoran. Whatever it was – he would never do anything serious without her permission. He _always_ asked for permission. _Always_.

She found it ridiculously cute. And found herself at once agitated and relieved at being presented with the choice. But it wasn’t a choice. Not now.

She nodded quickly and the serious expression on Syaoran’s face melted into something softer but still as intense. She closed her eyes and held her breath as she felt him slowly pull the zipper down its chain, unzipping the dress fully.

Her mouth suddenly went dry as his hands moved from her back to the straps of her dress. They lingered on the thick sleeveless straps momentarily. Sakura could feel him hesitating, and opened her eyes to find Syaoran staring at her face questioningly.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, her voice barely audible.

The question disappeared from his features as he pulled first at one strap, then at the other. Across the line of her shoulder, then _off_ , then along the line of her arms – Sakura moved them, making it easier for him to slide them off her hands – before slowly pulling the bodice down, down, _down_ to pool at her waist.

Sakura licked her dry lips nervously, feeling a tightening sensation near her stomach as Syaoran raked his eyes over her upper body, bare except for her breasts, held in place by a scant, lacy black bra.

He made to move, but Sakura spoke first.

“Wait.”

He froze, raising an eyebrow, as she sat up, hands coming to undo the buttons of his short-sleeved shirt one by one and smoothly sliding the garment off of him. His eyes were focused on her playful ones as she tossed the shirt aside nonchalantly, leaving him shirtless.

“Now it’s fair,” she murmured, running her hands along the line of his toned, well-built shoulders and arms.

He smirked.

“If you say so.”

He shifted his weight again, pressing his face into the rounded swell of her breasts, spilling out the top of her bra. His hands closed around hers, bringing them up from her sides to rest beside her on either side of her face. He intertwined his fingers in hers, squeezing firmly as though saying that he never wanted to let go.

She drew in a ragged breath as she felt his lips touch the skin of her breast, gently at first, and then with increasing pressure. Another yelp left her mouth as he pressed his teeth into the soft mound, again…and again…and again…

Syaoran heard her moan louder this time, dragged out over the hoarse tightness of her throat. He licked the offended area, gently at first, and then with increasing pressure, relishing the slightly salty bite of her skin. Underneath him, Sakura drew in a quivering breath, pressing her rounded breasts deeper into his mouth.

Dipping into the hollow between her breasts and dragging a tantalizing lick there, Syaoran paused, tilting his head upward to see the expression on Sakura’s face. Pleased at what he saw, he continued pressing lick after kiss after bite to whatever flesh was free of the confines of her bra. Letting her hands go, he trailed his hands from his shoulders down to rest firmly over the cups of her bra, before squeezing the soft mounds _hard_.

She cried out, arching her back abruptly. His hands were warm over the lacy fabric, she could feel their warmth through her bra. He squeezed again, softly this time, and in greater succession, caressing them, kneading them, all the while contributing to the building of the suffocating tension forming somewhere below her stomach.

His hands slowed and came to a still, before removing themselves from the rising and falling swell of her breast and moving down to caress the flatness of her stomach. His palms were smooth over the lines of faint abdominal muscles, a flat valley punctuated by her sharply protruding hip bones.

He lowered his head, lips tracing a line down the centre of her stomach, coming to a rest at her navel. She was shivering now as she felt him drop a slow succession of soft wet kisses all over her stomach, his hands stroking her sides up and down lazily. The tension in her gut intensified, turning into something fiery and pulsating. She let out another sharp sound as he gently bit her sides, nibbling here and there, covering the entire area with playful bites and kisses. Her hands found his shoulders and her fingers dug in forcefully with every movement he made.

She pulled him back up, so that his face hovered over hers, toned chest pressed heavily against her own. She placed her hands on his face, pulling him into a fiery kiss, enjoying the way it felt when their bare skin made contact, or the feel of his muscled arms holding her tightly. Tired of being the pliant one, she tried to flip him over to his side.

Unfortunately, the couch wasn’t wide enough to accommodate this motion. The result of her action was that both of them tumbled off the couch, landing in a heap on the carpeted floor below.

Syaoran groaned.

“What was that for?” he asked, scowling.

Sakura had landed on top of him, her face inches from his, her loose hair curtaining their faces in soft strands.

“Sorry,” she whispered, kissing him apologetically.

Whatever annoyance he’d felt toward her evaporated in an instant as his arms closed around her waist, hands travelling up the smooth expanse of her back, touching and stroking tenderly. He could hear her soft hums even as her lips left his, to trace small butterfly kisses along his jawline.

His fingers found the clasp of her bra and swiftly undid it in a quick, bold movement.

He felt her freeze above him as, his eyes meeting hers, he slid the insubstantial undergarment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground beside them.

She closed her eyes as he raised himself up slightly to trail a path of kisses down her throat and then along the circles of her rounded breasts. She arched above him, sighing as she felt his hot mouth make its way to close around a hardened nipple –

The next thing she knew, he’d tightened his grip on her waist and flipped her over, so that he was on top again. There was no room in her mind to protest, however. Syaoran knew what he was doing all too well, and it was driving her _wild_.

His other hand came to close over her other breast, fingers stroking the hardened nipple softly at first, and then harder, kneading the sensitive mound as forcefully as he could –

“ _Syaoran…_ ”

Sakura was astonished at how easily his name rolled off her tongue, or how long it had been since she’d said his name so informally. She could feel him smirking into her soft breast, and knew that thoughts of a similar nature were running through his head too.

She tilted her head, gazing at his head buried in the rise of her breast, astonished to see his half-closed, darkened eyes resting on hers. The pulsing feeling in her stomach was spreading, turning into a jolt as their eyes met. It intensified as she watched him switch to her other breast and take her into his mouth slowly and deliberately. Then, she couldn’t keep her eyes open as she felt him suck and bite and pull with well-practiced ease. Shudders coursed through her entire body as moan after moan rolled off her tongue. His motions were just forceful enough to create this _amazing_ tension in every part of her body, to pleasure so much, it almost hurt – and he _wasn’t stopping_ –

Syaoran turned his glinting eyes on her flushed face as he felt her quake uncontrollably beneath him. Pausing to gently blow on the heated skin, and hearing Sakura’s responding gasp with satisfaction, he then proceeded to trail small bites and kisses along the underside of both her breasts, and along the valley between them. His hands moved lower, back to her stomach and then to her hips, stroking and kneading the sensitive skin there.

“ _Oh_ …”

He smirked again, his ministrations becoming more deliberate, more vigourous, feeling her body stiffen and relax in succession, and her moans grow higher and higher in pitch, and her head turning from side to side, struggling to maintain some sense of control but it was _so difficult_ –

One of his hands moved lower, to the part of her legs, and boldly, he ran his fingers over the dampening fabric of her panties roughly.

She cried out hoarsely at the feeling of him stroking her _there_ so confidently, knowing exactly how to make her respond with the least effort – _oh…_

She whispered his name through a dry throat, spent with the effort of trying to hold herself together when his every motion was driving her completely over the edge. She was starting to see stars behind closed eyelids, not even bothering to hold her rising moans back anymore, his name rolling off her tongue over and over again as his hands continued to move insistently, faster and faster, his tongue and teeth trailing hungrily all over her chest and her stomach, marking her entire body as his –

It was no great laughing matter for her when he suddenly stopped, hands reaching for the dress still pooled at her waist and making as though to slide it off of her completely.

“Can I?” he whispered again.

Sakura was still breathing heavily and moving about agitatedly, trying to control the newly building heat between her legs and in her stomach. She didn’t even open her eyes, just raised her hips off the ground in an effort to make the removal of her dress as easy for him as possible.

_I’ll take that as a yes_ , he thought to himself, sliding the dress over her hips, along her legs and then discarded it somewhere near her legs.

Sakura breathed unevenly, shifting uncomfortably, trying to ease the throbbing ache that had centralized between her legs under his touch. She couldn’t even _remember_ the last time she’d felt like this, the last time anyone had been able to stir up so much with their touch.

One of his hands pressed down on top of her panties, fingers toying with the elastic band at its waist. The feel of his fingers brushing against her skin in that area was like – was like –

“Is it okay if I –”

Sakura didn’t even let him finish his question this time.

“If you ask me that one more time, I’m just going to have my way with you myself,” she bit out in frustration.

His lips quirked upward as he chuckled lightly, shaking his head. _So feisty_ …

Without another word, he pushed the fabric of her panties aside and ran his fingers along the throbbing, heated, heavily-moistening folds _slowly_ , circling around the edge of her wet entrance and trailing up to delicately stroke her hardening, swollen nub –

She sucked in her breath through her teeth harshly, her hips bucking upward, trying to alleviate some of the ache building in her. She needed him _so much_ …

But he was taking his own time, as his fingers gently pushed against that most sensitive part of her, pushing and circling and flicking in a building of teasing motions –

“ _Syaoran, please_ ,” she heard herself cry as the feeling of his fingers on her became too much for her to handle. She was throbbing, pulsing, _quivering_ with need, and she needed him in her – _so badly_.

As if in response, she felt him plunge a finger into her uncomfortably wet entrance, felt him crook his finger and rub a spot whose location only he seemed to ever be able to find –

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed out, as a wave of pleasure splintered over her. She felt him add another finger – and then another – as he pushed them in and out of her, managing to graze that beautifully responsive hypersensitive spot _each – beautiful – time –_

He inhaled sharply as he felt her walls tighten around his fingers, arousing a need deep within him. Just the feeling of her around his fingers – so hot and moist and _so fucking tight_ – it was enough to make him consider dropping everything and just taking her fast and hard right then and there.

She let out a small scream of frustration as she felt him remove his hands from her before letting her finish.

_I am going to_ kill _that man_ , she thought explosively, as the heightened arousal in her nether regions caused her to throb more.

His fingers slid under the elastic waist of her panties and dragged them over her hips, down her legs and carelessly flung them away somewhere. They landed in a heap on top of the couch.

Sakura was about to flip him over and satisfy her need on him herself, but then he did something that made her stop thinking altogether. Settling himself between her legs, he placed his hands on her inner thighs keeping her legs splayed _wide_ apart. Then, his eyes still fixed on her shocked ones, he lowered his head and ran his tongue roughly over her painfully shuddering core.

“ _Ohh_ …” he heard her moan resonate, as though it originated from her core. Her hands found his head, and her fingers tangled themselves into his hair sharply, her fists clenching tightly with every excruciating lick he took. He closed his eyes, savouring the slightly sour tang of her on his tongue. His hands traced patterns softly on her inner thighs, his tongue circled her entrance, circling it but never getting close to it – he could feel her bucking her hips up in response.

“ _Please_ …” he heard her say, her voice reduced to a sigh, pitiful against his ears.

He complied, sitting up, undoing his belt and fumbling with the zipper on his pants. Sakura opened her eyes at the sound of his zipper undoing and watching him struggle to kick his pants off. She eyed his boxers, sat up, and pulled them off of him impatiently.

“Wait,” she whispered, eyes fixed on his freed member, standing up in arousal and need. “Do you have a –”

“ _Fuck_!” Syaoran swore viciously, reaching for his pants and searching the pockets frantically.

Sakura tried to think of where else they could find one, sitting there uncomfortably cross-legged, trying to ease the pounding need at her core. If he _didn’t have one_ …

“Got it!” Syaoran said, extracting a small square plastic package from his pocket.

Sakura eyed him in a predatory manner as he ripped it open and slid the rubber over his enlarged member.

“About time,” she muttered, not even waiting for him to reposition himself. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him on top of her, arranging her legs around his waist as he positioned himself at her quivering entrance and _thrust_.

She cried out, completely forgetting how _large_ he was, how his member completely stretched her walls. The straining friction hurt but she didn’t even care, as long as she could feel him pulsing against her throbbing walls.

He began to move, slowly, pounding a slow rhythm that resonated throughout their bodies. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling his body still closer to hers. His hands moved from her hips up her sides, pulling her hands off of his shoulders. He pushed them up to rest by her face and intertwined his fingers in hers again, covering her mouth with his as he increased his rhythm.

She repositioned her legs, resting them on his shoulders as he thrust deeper, hitting that spot inside her again – and again – The pulsing heat inside her was building, heightening to a tension that _couldn’t break_ –

She felt his fingers tighten around hers as he sped up his pace, faster and faster still. Gone was the slow deliberation of his every earlier move. Gone was the languid, almost lazy pace with which he had explored her body. He was pounding into her with a frenzied sort of desperation, a long-suppressed need for her that just _had_ to be released, an addiction for the way her body responded to his, for the way she stretched to accommodate him, for the way she screamed and shook whenever he hit that spot inside her hard enough –

And still he thrust _harder_ – and _harder_ – hearing her screams go higher and higher in pitch, and hoarser and hoarser in texture. Her walls around him were tightening uncontrollably, tightening and throbbing in a way that made him _sure_ that –

Syaoran pushed in and out once more. And then once more. And _then_ he slammed himself into her _one – more – time –_

His name exploded from her lips as her entire body convulsed, her walls fluttering about his length, propelling him to reach his climax too. He cried out, collapsing onto her, fulfilled. He felt aftershock after aftershock pulse through her body underneath him, as their heart rates gradually slowed, and their breathing went from short and labored to normal.

And finally, when his eyes returned to their natural amber instead of the lust-filled unnaturally dark colour they had been, and her form had stopped shaking and quivering, he pulled himself out of her and rolled off of her, while simultaneously pulling her weight on top of him and wrapping his arms around her slim naked waist.

She smiled at him before burying her face into the crook of his neck. The feeling of the hard lines of his body, solid beneath hers, and the sound of his slow, even breathing, and the soft strokes of his fingers gently running through her hair, lulled her into a sleep more relaxing than any she’d had in the last – oh – eight years or so.

* * *

The sound of the mail alert on the Commanders’ computer terminal in the next room pierced through the hazy slumber that enveloped the two of them. It was a series of high-pitched, keening beeps, rising in volume until it was acknowledged.

Syaoran woke first, pressing his eyes shut more tightly in protest. As though mocking him, the beeps just got louder and louder.

He cracked an eye open, to find himself still on the carpeted ground between the couch and the coffee table, completely naked and with an equally naked Sakura soundly asleep on his chest. Strewn haphazardly all around them were their clothes.

The beeping rose in volume, its harsh tones feeling like they were drilling a hole into the base of his skull.

_Just shut the fuck up already_ , he thought irritably, but to no avail. He sighed, glancing at the woman slumbering peacefully on his chest, her slumber completely undisturbed by the goddamned beeping thing.

He moved his hands from her back to her shoulders.

“Sakura?” he said quietly, forcing the name through his lips and realizing just how long it had been since he’d called her by her real name.

He shook her gently, trying to wake her.

“Sakura, wake up.”

She groaned, shaking her head and snuggling her face deeper into his chest.

“Sakura, I need to get up and shut that thing off.”

Her hands tightened around his shoulders briefly before slackening and then dropping to his chest. Slowly, she raised herself up, her face meeting his. They stared at each other for a few long moments, as though considering the weight of their bold actions earlier for the first time with a sane mind. Then, she swung herself off of him and he rose, getting to his feet unsteadily and stretching briefly. He then walked over to the adjoining room, attended to the computer, and finally, turned the infernal beeping noises off.

The following silence was deafening.

He made his way back into the living room. Sakura was now sitting up on her knees, a strange look on her face. There was a look in her eyes that said that she was going to cry.

As she heard his approaching footsteps, she shook her head quickly, as though clearing it of whatever dark images were haunting her there. She began to scan the area around her for her clothes, finding her bra crumpled on the ground not too far from where her hand was.

He sat down next to her, his brief euphoria vanishing at the fallen look on her face.

“What’s up?” he asked, as lightly as he could.

She paused for a minute, before she started to put her bra back on.

“Nothing,” she said, her words completely contradicted by the heaviness in her voice.

Syaoran sighed.

“Sakura, what’s wrong?” When she didn’t answer, he felt something like panic beginning to well inside him. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

She finished hooking the clasp around her back and turned around to face him.

“What’s _wrong_?” she repeated dully. “After everything we – don’t you understand – oh, just forget about it…”

She turned away and found her dress, turned inside-out and crumpled in a heap.

Syaoran reached it first, picking it up and handing it to her. She accepted it without meeting his eyes. His searching gaze was able to detect the beginnings of tears swimming in her unfocused eyes.

He seated himself directly in front of her, cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her face to meet his.

“Tell me,” he repeated softly, his eyes warm and filled with concern.

Her eyes met his for a few brief moments before she turned her gaze lower.

“I –”

She was lost for words. It was like – it was like everything had spiraled out of control and gone places she hadn’t even _considered_ before she had fully been able to accept it. In the moment, when everything was all about the present and there had been nothing else in the world but _him_ and _her_ and everything between them had just felt so amazing and so right, it had been easy to say yes. But facing the consequences of a mistake she’d had the foolhardiness to repeat…it terrified her. And of course, she was furious with herself, for falling for it again. For yielding to him again, when he’d completely _betrayed_ her the first time around.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rid them of the tears that threatened to spill over. When she opened them again, she felt a moment of calm settle over her and she snatched at it.

“It doesn’t matter,” she forced herself to say, forcing herself to raise her gaze to meet his now-shocked eyes and lift her voice to a falsely indifferent tone. “I mean – well, whatever happened – happened – and that’s it. Nothing I do or say can change that.”

Syaoran’s eyebrows knit together as he struggled to piece together her words, to understand what was going on in her head.

“Wait, _what_?” he asked incredulously, feeling his face heat up. He leaned in closer to her, searching her face for some clue. Alarm suddenly hit him. “Are you saying that you didn’t _want_ to?”

“No, I _wanted_ to –” Sakura began, then faltered, turning an alarming shade of red.

“Then what’s the problem?” Syaoran pressed.

She pressed her eyes closed again.

“It’s just –” She inhaled sharply before opening her eyes and meeting his eyes, her jaw set firmly. “That’s all there really can be to it. And it…kind of sucks.”

Her words echoed in the air blankly in the subdued pause that followed. Hearing no response from him, she made to turn away.

Syaoran cupped her face between both palms and forced her to look at him again, before she could make an easy escape.

“And what do you mean by _that’s all there really can be to it_?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“Oh for God’s sakes, Syaoran!” Sakura spat out, closing her hands over his and pulling them off of her face viciously. “Look at us! We’re the highest ranking members of an Association that would _kill_ us if they found out that we were involved with each other even in the slightest! I don’t even _want_ to know what’d happen if they found out about what we just did! Do you – don’t – don’t look at me like that –” she said quickly, her tone turning to a warning at the look of sheer _disbelief_ that Syaoran was throwing at her at the moment, “-you know that I’m telling the truth – and _how_ can you even _consider_ – consider – ugh, just _forget it_ …”

Syaoran felt his mouth go dry as her words settled over him like some sort of ominous thundercloud.

“Are you trying to say that – that –” His words were fumbling, he couldn’t _believe_ what she was implying. “Why don’t you come out with it and _say it_ already?”

Sakura ran her hands through her hair agitatedly before letting them fall on top of her thighs. Wisps of her hair settled haphazardly, framing her face in an unkempt but not unflattering manner.

“What I’m saying is that,” she started in measured tones, her voice reasonable but still shaking, “I – I don’t appreciate you stirring everything up again when we’d both let go. I don’t see any reason for it, not at all –”

“ _Stirring everything up_?”

Sakura didn’t reply, just blew an offending strand of hair out of her eyes and setting her mouth obstinately.

Syaoran, however, would have his say.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he demanded, trying to elicit some kind of response in her disconnected demeanour. “There was no _letting go_ involved – well – not on my part, anyway.”

His words seemed to ring in the air. It seemed like an eternity before Sakura moved, her eyes rising to meet his, shock written in them.

“ _What_?”

He swallowed, but pressed on with grim-faced determination.

“I like you,” he said simply, words coming to him in a rush, words that he’d taught himself to suppress for so long, words that were finally, _finally_ being said out loud. “I’ve always liked you. And – and I know I’ve made life hell for you – especially with what happened last time, I know, I was a complete asshole and I fucked things up _royally_ that time and you have every right to hate me for it, but – I hope you understand that I was only doing it for … well, there’s no point in justifying it now, I guess – but I just want you to understand that whatever happened – whatever’s _happening_ – it’s not just me stirring up shit for kicks, I _mean it_ , Sakura…”

She opened and closed her mouth wordlessly, completely taken aback at his confession. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes again and when she opened them, Syaoran saw in them for the first time, the sheer vulnerability of the heartbroken seventeen-year-old that had endured in her for the last several years.

“Please don’t say that,” she struggled to say finally, and he could hear the tears threatening to spill from the telltale quake of her voice. “I – I know what you must be feeling, but – but what you’re trying to say – what you’re _suggesting_ is impossible. You know that, you remember what happened last time. And – and I have no reason to see why it’d be different this time.”

“Because,” Syaoran fought to think of something, _anything_ , that he could use in his defense, “because we learned, didn’t we? We’re experienced, we’ve matured, we’re _adults_ for crying out loud!”

“So?” Sakura was unmoved. “That changes nothing. Look at what we are. Look at what we’ve fought and lost and thrown away just to be what we are now. You can’t say that being a Field Commander doesn’t mean anything to you, because it sure as hell means something to me. And – and I just don’t see either of us wanting to throw it away for – for –”

“For an unsure bet?” Syaoran finished for her wryly.

Sakura nodded, biting her lip to stop it from quivering.

“Because it’ll always make us wonder,” Syaoran said at length, after a good deal of thought. “As it is, we’re a lost cause. Well, unless – unless you feel nothing –”

“That’s not it,” Sakura said quietly. “I do like you, it’s never been a big secret, though I never really wanted to admit that –”

“Then you’ll understand what I mean when I say that forgetting about it and moving on is a pretty useless course of action,” Syaoran interrupted. “I mean, if it’s been, what, _seven years_ , and we’re still stuck in the same damn place –”

“Well, it’d have never happened if we’d just kept our distance from each other,” Sakura pointed out. “We were perfectly in control of ourselves throughout the entire London assignment.”

“Were we, though?” Syaoran challenged her, a new fire burning in his eyes. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me that for the entirety of the mission, for not _one moment_ were you out of complete control of yourself?”

Her silence was the answer he needed.

“Exactly,” he finished for her. “So don’t go around denying everything –”

“I’m not _denying anything_ ,” Sakura spat out, the tears finally spilling from her eyes. “Stop giving me all this shit when I’m just trying to be _realistic_ , goddamnit! Because _one of us_ has got to be!”

Syaoran swore under his breath, feeling the helplessness sink in as she sat there, eyes downcast and tears trailing erratic saltwater paths down the lines of her face.

He reached out, to brush away the tears with his thumbs slowly, tenderly.

She took a shuddering breath in, before starting to cry altogether.

Almost immediately, she felt his arms close around her protectively. She didn’t even object, just buried her face into the hard planes of his chest and let herself cry there. His hand was stroking a reassuring motion up and down her back, not seductive but comforting instead.

“I know you’re going to hate me for saying this,” she managed to choke out at length. “But even suggesting that our – our being involved with each other has the _potential_ to go somewhere is just – it’s just too cruel, Syaoran. Please don’t ever say it. What happened between us earlier was a mistake – one that I’m sure we both enjoyed a lot – but a mistake nonetheless. And it would really be in our best interests if we just forgot about it.”

Syaoran’s mouth pressed in a grim line as he took in her words, shaking and forced out as though filled with a poison. On one hand, her words made sense, practically and logically speaking. If the two of them could just swallow what they felt and get on with their lives, it would definitely be in their best interests. There would be no need to feel at risk, no need to hide anything, no need to worry for their lives…

But for some reason, the thought of it made him feel sick. He didn’t understand why, where all these powerful feelings were coming from. A week ago, he would have been able to control himself in front of Sakura. Now, for some reason, he couldn’t.

His hand moved from her back to her shoulder and then touched her face gently.

“Sakura, look at me.”

It took her a few moments to steady herself before she obliged, meeting his serious amber eyes with her watery green ones.

“That’s good. Now, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly.”

Sakura nodded, her short shuddering breaths starting to steady.

“What do you want?” Syaoran asked. “Forget about the Association and their stupid rules, forget about what everyone will think if they find out. J–just forget about the world for a minute and tell me what _you_ want.”

Sakura gaped at him. His words sounded _so_ familiar, she could have sworn she’d been asked something of the sort not too long ago. There was an unsettling sense of déjà vu about the whole situation, but she really couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I – I don’t know,” she stammered at length. “I’ve – I’ve never really thought –”

“Then think,” Syaoran replied simply. “Take your time.”

She stared at him absently before her gaze slackened elsewhere, to some point beyond him in the distance that only she could see. He felt her relax against him, her weight leaning against his chest, her head softly and neatly against his neck. Her hands and legs were tucked in. Slowly, absently, one of her hands came up, to trace a series of abstracted patterns lightly on the smooth skin of his shoulders. He leaned forward, resting his chin on top of her head, pressing his lips to her hair firmly. One of his arms still encircled her waist protectively; the other one was slowly and lazily trailing its fingers through her hair, before tracing a pattern from her shoulder down her arm, and then firmly lacing her hand in his.

He felt her slow preparatory inhale and steeled himself for her words.

“I –” She took another breath. “I can’t do it. I can’t just forget about everyone else…”

“Who else?” Syaoran asked, lips still pressed to her hair.

“Everyone,” Sakura answered unhelpfully. “I just can’t forget them or what they’ll think if they were to see us…”

“Sakura,” Syaoran murmured slowly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “No one is going to see us.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” Sakura said in a shaky voice.

“Actually…” Syaoran raised his head and gave her a strange little smile, “…as a Field Commander, I could. And so could you.”

She stared at him quizzically, eyebrows furrowed, as he continued.

“The only individual in this entire Association to whom you have to answer is the Grandmaster,” Syaoran explained emphatically, a fiery light glowing in his eyes. “The rest of them – Meiden, Nakuru – they’re not your superiors anymore, Sakura. They no longer outrank you. And I can tell you one thing. After that conversation Meiden and I had, _none_ of them are going to be conversing with us anytime soon. Which means we’re alone here together. And you know what? No one is ever going to think twice about it. Why would they? Don’t you see Meiden and Nakuru together all the time? Don’t they practically live together back at Headquarters? And does _anyone_ make a big deal out of it? No way. You have the freedom to do whatever the hell you want, as long as you do it discreetly. As long as you do your duties, you technically never have to go back on the field again, if you don’t want to. Don’t you understand? It’s not going to be like last time because _this time, we call the shots_.”

Sakura opened and closed her mouth repeated, the quizzical expression in her eyes giving way to understanding. And she knew that Syaoran did bring up a very good point, and that it opened up the way to _so many possibilities_ , at once terrifying as they were beautiful.

“But what someone _did_ find out?” Sakura pressed, trying to hold on to that very last straw of cold reality. “Say we got careless and the others found out. What would we do?”

Syaoran paused for a moment, his hands freezing on her arms.

At length, he spoke, and his words _shocked_ her.

“I’d quit,” he said simply.

Sakura pushed away from him, disbelief warring with shock on her face.

“ _Come again_?”

He fixed his intense amber gaze on her, so focused and so serious that she froze.

“I’d quit,” he repeated, completely serious.

Sakura blinked once, twice, before staring at him, waiting for him to laugh or change his expression or _something_.

“You’re actually serious,” she said at last.

“Yes.”

“You mean it.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I – I don’t believe you,” Sakura countered. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would you want to quit? Being a Field Commander means _everything_ to you –”

“No, it doesn’t,” Syaoran cut across her words quietly. “It used to, I’ll admit. When I was younger – getting to the top meant everything to me. I wanted to match my father, equal him, prove to everyone that I was just as good as him, if not, better than him. But now – now that I’m here, I realize that it’s been at such a great cost, and – and it’s just not worth it to me anymore. I do it to keep my family safe, but – but what use is that if my family’s just being torn apart in my absence? Not only that, having to defend myself at every turn, and answer to Meiden who is an _absolute jackass_ – I wouldn’t think twice before leaving it all, Sakura. I’d do it _gladly_.”

“But –” Sakura’s head was wheeling. Syaoran Li, agent extraordinaire. Syaoran Li, who lived for the thrill of the field. Syaoran Li…wanted to _settle down?_ It sat completely at odds with her mental image of him. To her, he had been the perfect agent. The role model, the standard of perfection she had always striven to match. His influence on her development as a field agent, on her entire perception of the Association itself, was monumental. In a way, Syaoran and the Association were intertwined in her head as one and the same. And as much as she hated to admit it…a substantial portion of her drive for excellence and progression in the Association had been to simply try show her training officer up. To someday beat him at his own game.

It shocked her then and there when she realized that, without Syaoran there, the Association would seem lackluster indeed.

“It’s simple, Sakura,” Syaoran was saying, and she forced herself to focus on his measured, reasonable, deep voice. “If we find out that they’re onto us, I’ll terminate my contract with them. I mean, I’ve worked on the field for the ten-year minimum, and I’ll cite family problems as the reason to leave. They’ll probably try convince me to stay but as long as I leave before anyone gathers any solid proof to incriminate us with – it shouldn’t be a problem. And even if they find out, later on, well, what could they do if I’m not bound to the Association’s rules anymore? They’d have no real case against you. And you could always argue that we started seeing each other _after_ I left the Association…”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Sakura said in a very small voice.

There was another silence as Syaoran tilted his head to the side, and surveyed her with strange, sultry eyes.

“Well, you could always come with me,” he suggested offhandedly.

She blanched at his suggestion, repulsed and at the same time, intrigued. Give up her career? For a _man_? But at the same time – he wasn’t just _any_ man. He was, somehow, in some warped manner, the reason she stood where she did currently. The goal she had always worked for, the mentor whose approval and admiration she always fought to gain. The man who had brought a purpose other than fulfilling her childhood vendetta against the Aconite mafia into her life. The man who had influenced her and changed her in so many ways, that she had begun to divide her life into two chapters: the one before she’d met Syaoran, and the one after. The man who had somehow never left the back of her mind ever since she’d met him and fallen for him, so many years ago. For all these years, she’d dismissed it as weakness, as stupidity, as a fantasy that would amount to nothing at all.

Which is why when he sat before her, outlining a daring but feasible way for her to bring her undreamed dreams and most guarded fantasies to life, she felt something claw at her insides, filling her with a frantic tremor. This wasn’t some cruel dream or sick joke, but _reality_. For the first time since the last time they’d parted, she found herself considering taking the leap, taking the risk – for _him_. Found herself acknowledging what she could never, ever bring herself to admit to herself frankly: just _how much_ he meant to her. _How much_ she missed him, how much she needed him. It had been no small wonder that she’d yielded to him when he’d put his hands on her, that things had escalated so quickly. Because she’d missed his touch, all these years, and had been craving it _so badly_ …

She met his eyes hesitantly. But, for the first time, there was a glint of the daring in them too.

“Maybe,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting.

Syaoran regarded her for a moment, maybe two.

“That’s not an answer,” he pointed out, although there was a trace of a smile on his mouth.

“Well,” Sakura said, moving herself slightly closer to him. “You never really asked a question.”

The ghost of the smile on Syaoran’s lips transformed into his trademark smirk.

“Alright then,” he said carefully. “Sakura Kinomoto, can I have you?”

A mischievous smile flitted across Sakura’s face as she pulled herself closer to him, taking his face in her hands and bringing it inches from hers.

“Only if I can have you too,” she breathed.

Syaoran ran his hands through her hair before resting them on her cheeks.

“Always,” he murmured, leaning in to peck her softly over the mouth. “ _Always_.”

His mouth met hers and their lips danced slowly around each other, at once as innocent as it was intimate. To them, it was like coming home after being abandoned for years.

They broke away slowly, breathing lulling to a soft synchronized rhythm. Hands caressed unclothed skin delicately, lips touched hair and formed soft words that were barely audible. Eyes locked on eyes, green hypnotized by amber, amber mesmerized by green, by one word, repeated over and over again. _Mine…mine…mine…_

“Syaoran?” came Sakura’s voice after what seemed like an eternity.

“Hmm?”

She felt him shift slightly, his lips warm against her forehead, and felt herself blush a little as she spoke.

“Maybe it’s time we got dressed again?” she suggested.

He groaned loudly.

* * *

 


	13. Puzzled

_**chapter xii.** puzzled_

* * *

“ _Li, take a look at this_.”

Syaoran tore his eyes away from the monitor in front of him, and glanced at the intercom speakers mounted on the wall beside his head. He sighed and pushed the round blue button beside the speakers. 

“And what exactly am I supposed to be looking at?” he asked patiently.

“ _I’m sending it over to you right now_ ,” Sakura’s voice replied. “ _And I’m heading back up from Processing with a few more interesting things._ ”

“Alright, I’ll make myself busy in the meantime,” Syaoran answered, as he disconnected the intercom and glanced over at the monitor again.

Sure enough, a message from Field Commander Kinomoto Sakura had appeared in his inbox. He selected it, opened it and skimmed the brief text quickly.

_Keiro Tsukiyune’s complete follow-up report. Look at the will._

Raising his eyebrows fractionally, Syaoran clicked on the enclosed attachment and, as it opened, flipped through its contents critically. 

It was a fairly comprehensive document, totaling almost two hundred pages in length. It included a detailed biography, known and suspected affiliates, and a long string of scanned documents. The will he found near the end of the large report, and he perused its contents thoroughly before he heard the door to the penthouse opening.

“Did you look at it?” Sakura called by way of greeting as she kicked off her shoes and made her way over to the couches with a thick folder in hand.

“I did,” Syaoran answered, getting up and seating himself next to her. “Apparently, Tsukiyune left his entire fortune to someone called R. Vell.”

“Does that mean anything to you?” Sakura asked.

“Not really.” Syaoran shrugged. “That name isn’t exactly familiar to me. Is it a relative or something? But I thought Tsukiyune didn’t have any close family members…”

“That’s just it though,” Sakura pointed out. “I don’t know if I imagined this or not…but do you remember him when he was talking about how he saw through our cover? When he was talking about how he was good with names and journalists and stuff?" 

Syaoran thought long and hard, trying to recall that tense encounter with as much accuracy as he could. It wasn’t easy. It was difficult to form memories of charged, highly stressful events, and even more difficult to form accurate ones. Still, he hadn’t become a Field Commander for nothing.

“He mentioned a niece,” he said suddenly, remembering Tsukiyune’s words with stunning clarity. “He knew the names of all the journalists who covered his niece’s wedding six years ago. You didn’t imagine it, he – he definitely said that.”

“So…” Sakura prompted, opening the folder quickly and skimming through its contents. “From Tsukiyune’s mouth, we know that he had a niece. A niece who got married – you said six years ago?”

“I believe so,” Syaoran acquiesced, trying to build on this train of thought. “And, more importantly, that her wedding was covered in the papers.”

He met Sakura’s eyes.

“Meaning that his niece’s identity should be easily discoverable by looking up any one of those papers,” he said slowly. “And as Tsukiyune’s only known close relative, it would make sense that she would be the only name mentioned in his will.”

“Correct,” Sakura agreed. “Except…”

She pulled a printout of an article from a local newspaper six years ago.

“According to this, Tsukiyune’s niece was an Ami Tanaka, who got married to a French scientist named Thierry Laroche.”

“I remember a Laroche on the boat,” Syaoran nodded in familiarity. “Could have been the same guy, or a relation…”

“Beside the point,” Sakura dismissed Syaoran’s musings abruptly. “What’s important to note, however, is that neither Ami Tanaka, nor her husband Thierry Laroche, are mentioned anywhere on Tsukiyune’s will. And neither of them are this R. Vell character. Isn’t that odd?”

Syaoran mulled over Sakura’s question for a moment.

“Well, that would depend on the state of their relationship,” he proposed tentatively. “I suppose we can assume that they were on good terms six years ago, since Tsukiyune appears to have given Tanaka away at her wedding, and arranged most of the press to be present… Do we know if they fell out later on, though? If anything happened that would cause him to disinherit his niece and write her out of his will?”

“Well, there’s no documentation that would support that,” Sakura answered. “We tried to get our hands on older copies of Tsukiyune’s will, to see if Tanaka had been on it at an earlier time and then removed in later versions. But…”

“No luck?” Syaoran guessed.

“Not really,” Sakura admitted with a grimace. “So we tried an even more efficient tack. We got someone in Tech to get in touch with Tanaka and gain information that way.”

“I suppose she was reading the papers?” Syaoran quipped wryly.

“You can say that. Tanaka sounded genuinely upset over her uncle’s death, and even more genuinely surprised that her and her husband had been left nothing.”

“Indicating no interruption in the state of their loving relationship,” Syaoran muttered. “Well, at least not from Tanaka’s end. Too bad her uncle was a two-faced liar. Did she have any insights as to who Tsukiyune’s successor was?”

Sakura’s mouth played into a grim smile.

“She did. And this is where things get interesting. Tanaka mentioned a colleague of her husband’s, a Rhiannon Vell, who was reported to be very _close_ to her uncle.”

“Close?” Syaoran raised an eyebrow. “In what manner? A mistress, maybe?”

“That, we can only speculate upon,” Sakura returned. “What manner of relationship did Keiro Tsukiyune have with Rhiannon Vell, that would cause him to bequeath his entire fortune to her instead of his own blood relative?”

“Must’ve been a _special_ mistress,” Syaoran commented dryly. “One that didn’t try drugging him with his morning tea. Otherwise I’m sure your name would’ve been on that will too, Mizune Megumi.”

“Shut up.”

He smirked at her, and she twisted her lips sardonically at him in return.

“So since you seem to have followed this entire trail of inquiry already,” Syaoran said airily, “I’m sure you didn’t just stop here. Tell me what you found out about Vell’s background when you tried to look.”

Sakura smiled modestly, before launching into a succinct version of her findings.

“Interestingly enough, we couldn’t find very many conclusive leads. We tried searching for her in the public records but most of her files are misplaced or inaccessible. The only place we could really get any significant detail about her was by looking her up professionally.”

“Hm,” Syaoran thought aloud, frowning at Sakura’s words. “When you’re trying to do a background check on someone and you start running into dead ends like that, it usually means two things. One, your target’s working under an alias that hasn’t been fabricated completely. Or two –”

“Someone wants you to look in the direction your information trail leads you,” Sakura completed. “I suppose that makes sense. I mean, Vell’s professional career as a scientist probably isn’t the most telling of whatever endeavors that endeared her to Tsukiyune so.”

“You never know…” Syaoran trailed off. He glanced at Sakura. “Did you look at what kind of scientist she is? Is there anything unusual about the company she works for?”

“Processing hasn’t had time to get me the full scoop yet, but from what I recall, she and Thierry Laroche are both senior scientists at some lab in Paris. Lalune Laboratories, it was called.”

“Lalune?” Syaoran frowned. “Name mean anything to you?”

“Well, apart from the obvious and literal, _la lune_ being _the moon_ in French…nothing.”

“What about the other people who worked at that lab?” Syaoran pressed. “So far we have a laboratory in France with two senior individuals with close ties to Tsukiyune. If we run background checks on everyone in that lab, what’s the betting they all had something to do with him?”

“And maybe by him leaving his fortune to Vell, it’d be an insurance that all his fortune got invested into that lab?” Sakura continued on. “I don’t really know what Vell’s role in the company is, but if she had any responsibility with its finances, I’ll bet she could facilitate sponsorship and the like.”

“Which would beg the question…” Syaoran looked at Sakura seriously. “What is that lab working on, and why would one of Europe’s biggest mafia heads leave his entire fortune into its development?”

Sakura chewed a corner of her lip, trying to imagine the possibilities.

“Do you think it’s worth sending someone down to Paris to take a look at things?” she suggested. “I mean, if the Aconites are involved in developing some monster weapon or other threat…”

“We need more evidence though,” Syaoran pointed out. “Right now all we have are two names, a will, and a boatload of speculation. Meiden and the others would never buy it. But nothing’s stopping us from sending a couple of people from Retrieval over to scout out the area and give us some preliminary stats. Actually, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea, come to think of it…”

“Okay so, we need a comprehensive review of Vell’s role at Lalune, background checks on everyone who works with her, and a lowdown on everything that lab has been working on since day one, for a start,” Sakura listed off the top of her head. “Getting a copy of the lab’s inventory along with its publications would probably be more telling, too. Easier to see if they’re hiding something.”

“Right,” Syaoran nodded his agreement, jotting Sakura’s words down onto a notepad that had been lying on the coffee table in front of them. “For confidentiality purposes, I suggest we keep this assignment off the database for now. Since someone with access to it seems to have it in for you…”

Sakura frowned.

“How’s the search for that techie going anyway?” she asked. “The one who tampered with my file?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Syaoran muttered, casting a dark look at the computer terminal at which he had been sitting previously.

“Bad, then?”

He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“You could give it a rest for a bit,” Sakura suggested. “Clear your mind off it with a new puzzle. As long as I’m not on the field, it’s not like I’m in any danger anyway.”

“I know but…” _But I made a promise to myself to keep you safe,_ he finished in his head silently.

Sakura placed her hand over his and squeezed it gently.

“It’ll all make sense in the end,” she said reassuringly. “I’m sure it will.”

“I wish it would make sense _now_ though,” Syaoran groaned. “Why is this individual so protected, and what would he or she gain out of messing with your family details? No one would have ever seen it if I hadn’t been curious and checking things out on a whim.”

Sakura shrugged, her face growing visibly upset at the thought of the tampered file.

“It’s too cruel to be a joke,” she replied in a hollow voice. “The story of how the Aconites butchered my family is almost legend. To even suggest that they’re alive is just…torturous to imagine. Whoever edited that part of my file, they have a pretty sick sense of humour, that’s for sure.”

“And was apparently too busy to complete our cover properly,” Syaoran added. “Seeing as that techie was also supposed to be supporting us on the London mission.”

Sakura was quiet for a while before she spoke up.

“Do you think it’s possible that the techie was the one who tipped Tsukiyune off about us?”

Syaoran exhaled slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he so often did while contemplating things.

“It did cross my mind,” he admitted, meeting her eyes with his serious ones. “I mean, this person botched our cover, and also has been recorded to have accessed your file at a strange time, suggesting that it wasn’t done under orders but out of personal interest. Also bearing in mind that accessing another Associate’s records in the database without proper authorization is strictly prohibited, and the fact that this techies records are completely sealed…it’s all circumstantial but the evidence so far doesn’t paint a pretty picture for this techie.”

“And I was wondering…” Sakura continued hesitantly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear absently. “This is probably a pretty big leap, and I don’t expect you to go along with it, but…”

“Try me,” Syaoran challenged softly. “I’m only a prick when I have to be.”

She snorted in disbelief.

“Well…I don’t know if you remember the last mission I did with the Association, before I quit?” she asked. “When I was supposed to protect a mother and her son from an Aconite hitman?”

“Kai and Mimi Miyamoto-Ishida from Hayashi Takiyama,” Syaoran nodded, remembering that explosive mission well enough.

“Takiyama knew my real name before he even got to me,” Sakura pointed out. “No one really believed me when I cried foul play, but it happened, and I was betrayed. I just wonder…was there a techie involved in that mission, last minute as it was? And if so, what if it’s the same one who covered us in London? And if it is, what if that person blew my cover last time too?”

“That’s a lot of ifs,” Syaoran commented wryly.

Sakura sighed.

“I didn’t expect you to believe me,” she said, attempting a tone of nonchalance. “It was just a thought…”

“Hey,” Syaoran said quietly, reaching out to cup Sakura’s face gently in one of his hands. “I’m on your side, remember? If there’s anyone in the Association who has it in for you, it’s only a matter of time before we find them.”

She let out a small chuckle and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

“We do make quite the team, don’t we?”

“That we do,” Syaoran agreed, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Right from day one, I think.”

“Perhaps you’re remembering a different day one from the one I’m thinking of, then,” Sakura quipped, her expression deadpan.

“Nonsense. I knew we would be a kickass combo from the moment you kicked my front door in.”

“You did have to put up with quite a few of my temper tantrums,” Sakura grinned, closing her hand around Syaoran’s and bringing it into her lap. “But to be fair, you also got me back more than enough times to even the count.”

“I was a pretty horrible training officer, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah you were pretty awful,” Sakura agreed blandly, without hesitation. She chuckled at the momentary look of indignation that crossed Syaoran’s face, and shifted her weight so that she could lean against his shoulders.

“One could argue that as my only protégé ended up a Field Commander, I was actually a very _good_ training officer,” Syaoran pointed out, somewhat petulantly. His disappointment at Sakura’s lack of confidence in his training skills didn’t stop him from wrapping an arm about her shoulders, however.

Sakura snorted.

“One could argue that I’m just a prodigy and was going to end up being one anyway,” she retorted without emphasis.

“Well. _Someone’s_ cocky,” Syaoran drawled, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

Sakura lifted her head to face him with a mischievous smirk.

“Well, I did learn from the best.”

“Did you now?” Syaoran leaned in, touching his forehead to hers. “A moment ago I was awful and now I’m the best?”

“At being cocky, yeah.”

“And that’s my only redeeming factor? I’m just a cocky prick and that’s it?”

Sakura’s smirk turned into a grin.

“See, I only called you cocky. You admitted the part about being a prick all on your own.”

“My mistake. I guess I’m too hard on myself.”

“You wouldn’t say you had it coming at all?” Sakura challenged.

“Nah.” Syaoran shrugged off the banter effortlessly before closing the distance between them and touching his lips to hers slowly, yet deliberately.

“I could get used to this,” Sakura murmured softly as they broke away at length.

There was a moment’s silence. Then –

“ _Finally_. Something we both agree on,” Syaoran declared. Without a moment’s further ado, he scooped her up in his arms effortlessly, stood up and made his way briskly to the bedroom.

“Mmf! What are you _doing_?” Sakura protested weakly as he deposited her onto the bed gently. She struggled to regain her composure, straightening herself on the edge of the bed.

Syaoran knelt before her, his expression playful.

“Giving you a chance to get used to this,” he said simply.

Before she could say another word, he cupped her face in both his hands, leaned in close and kissed her hard.

* * *

The next day, Syaoran had a discreet but lengthy meeting with two agents from the Retrieval department. By the end of the day, the two of them had packed their essentials and boarded a plane bound to Paris. 

They made their first debrief three weeks later.

“ _Jensson and Ritch, reporting for Commander Li._ ”

“I hear you,” Syaoran said, his voice registering on the giant equalizer onscreen in the Commanders’ telecom room. “What’s your status, Agents?”

“ _We are on site and secure for the moment,”_ came the voice of Agent Jensson. “ _We have some updates about the items you assigned, plus some extras that you can do whatever with._ ”

“I’m all ears. What did you find?”

“ _We dug up as much as we could find about Rhiannon Vell and her colleagues at Lalune_ ,” said Agent Ritch. “ _She oversees most of the projects in development, does a lot of paperwork related to that. Apart from filing claims and managing funds for each project, she doesn’t have much else to do with the lab’s finances._ ”

“That’s a shame,” Syaoran commented. “What else did you find?”

“ _We looked into Thierry Laroche as well, but his portfolio is basically the same as Vell’s_ ,” Ritch continued. “ _As a matter of fact, he reports to her_.”

“Hmm. Any tensions between the two?”

“ _None that’s been reported in their professional evaluations over the last ten years, or commented on by their colleagues_.”

“Okay. Give me more. This lab they work at, what kind of lab is it? What do they do, how is it structured, who’s in charge?”

“ _Lalune’s a mid-sized lab contracted out to a bigger pharmaceutical company_ ,” said Jensson. “ _Private sector, obviously. But independently owned. They were fortunate enough to get a few patents out just as they were starting up, so they avoided getting bought out by the big pharmas. Instead, they bring in contracts for specialized projects from the industry kingpins and develop those in the laboratory’s own premises, under the supervision of their own personnel. The contractors send their own people to conduct progress reports and evaluations, but it’s a fairly stable establishment._ ”

“So they work for the pharmas but have their own autonomy,” Syaoran mused. “Lucky them. What kind of patents did they get out while they were a start-up? They must have been quite deep-pocketed to have accomplished that.”

“ _I’m sending the files over to you as we speak_ ,” said Ritch. “ _They successfully patented a new type of anaesthetic, which is currently being used in hospitals all over France. Then they released a couple of cardiovascular drugs which were immensely well received in clinics as well._ ”

“So what connection would an independent medical drug developer have with the Aconite mafia?”

“ _Besides the link between Vell and Laroche and Tsukiyune?_ ” Syaoran could hear the shrug in Ritch’s voice. “ _We’re still trying to piece this together. We haven’t found much in terms of Aconite connections with any of the other people who run Lalune, but we’re still trying to sort out the real information trail from all the red herrings._ ”

Syaoran’s nerves went on alert.

“So there are red herrings?”

“ _We can find instances of tampered information in the public records_ ,” Ritch affirmed, her voice growing solemn. “ _But whether that was done intentionally, and for what purpose, we still don’t know. For example, Dr. Moon, the scientist who founded and runs Lalune, has obvious signs of tampering in his files and records. So obvious that I’m wondering if someone else messed with his file in order to attract our attention to it, and distract us from something else._ ”

“The Aconites could have planted a false trail that you could detect in the case that we discovered the connection between Tsukiyune and Vell and came looking, it’s possible,” Syaoran agreed. “Just keep looking and trust your instincts. If this Moon character is more than he seems, you’ll find out soon enough. Hopefully before the Aconites pull a trigger on you.”

“ _Speaking of the Aconites_ ,” Jensson spoke up. “ _We’ve been hearing rumours about a character of some notoriety in the French underworld circles. People only know him as ‘Le Taureau’. Not sure if he’s a cat burglar or Tsukiyune’s right hand man, but everyone in the seedy underbelly of Paris snaps right to whenever they hear that name._ ”

“Le Taureau?” Syaoran frowned. “Never heard of him. I’ll ask Processing to do a summary analysis of all the files we have in Paris, see if he turns up in any of those. Is there any evidence of this Taureau having connections with anyone in Lalune? Vell or Laroche specifically?”

“ _We can’t even find evidence that Le Taureau is a real person, let alone one with connections to Lalune_ ,” Jensson replied dryly. “ _Even people in the mafia here don’t know shit about the guy.”_

“Well…stick to the assignment for now,” Syaoran directed. “If this Taureau becomes important down the road, you can focus on him then. For now, consider him irrelevant until the folks in Processing gets back to you with useful information that can tie him to Lalune at all.”

“ _Will do, Commander_.”

“You’re doing well. Keep on looking and report back to me in one week.”

“ _Yes, Commander_.”

And with that the line was disconnected.

* * *

Sakura was wrapping up a meeting with the administrators of the Academy when Syaoran paged her. She excused herself and made her way back to the Commander’s penthouse.

“What’s up?” 

“Debrief,” came Syaoran’s reply from the study.

She made a face, kicked off her shoes and made her way inside. She emptied the contents of her bag onto the coffee table and began to sort the pile of folders in a way that made some semblance of sense to her. 

She heard the door to the study open, before Syaoran walked out of it, flounced onto the couch beside her and tossed another file in front of her.

“Another one?” she groaned. “I can barely keep track of all of these.”

Syaoran let out a grimace of a smile.

“What did you imagine your new job to be like, if not paperwork and more paperwork?”

“I don’t know,” Sakura muttered, crossing her arms. “ _Commanding_?”

Syaoran snorted.

“With Meiden the power-hungry bastard in charge? No way. We’re just his drudges.”

“Still?” Sakura complained. “Won’t we ever be shot of him?”

“Technically, we are,” Syaoran pointed out. “Sort of. As shot of him as we can get away with. Not like he’s breathing down our necks right now.”

“Oh hell no,” Sakura shook her head vehemently. “I didn’t just throw away my freedom and years of hard work to come back and be Meiden’s bitch in this bureaucratic hellhole.”

“He seems to feel that way too,” Syaoran returned wryly. “So feel free to command whatever and whomever in his absence.”

“So what’s this?” Sakura waved the folder Syaoran had given her.

“A summary of the report Retrieval made to me from Paris today,” Syaoran replied. “I sent two of their best and brightest down three weeks ago to take a look at the state of things and update me on anything strange going down at Lalune.”

“Did they find anything?” Sakura asked, opening the file and skimming its contents quickly.

“Well, nothing tangible yet,” Syaoran admitted, before launching into a succinct yet thorough summary of what Jensson and Ritch had told him.

Sakura’s frown deepened.

“So there’s no evidence of mafia ties at this laboratory beyond the link we dug up with Tsukiyune, but at the same time they know for a fact that certain members have had their records tampered with?”

“That seems to be the case,” Syaoran affirmed. He had printed off a copy of the file for his own reference, and he flipped through it as though in an effort to make sense of it. “Especially in the case of the scientist who founded and currently runs the lab – I did a bit of my own research on him, it’s in the _Personnel_ section.” 

Sakura flipped to the marked section, and began to read from it.

“ _Dr. Eli Moon_ ,” she read out loud. “ _Twenty eight years old, born in Seoul, studied at Cambridge, moved to France after receiving dual chemistry and pharmacology degrees, worked for Sanofi-Aventis in Paris from 1998 to 2003, left with co-worker Rhiannon Vell to start up Lalune Laboratories which successfully patented Acosthetix and Tachynitax while simultaneously acquiring a development contract from Sanofi. Currently founder and president of Lalune laboratories. No known family members, engaged to emerging Parisian fashion scion, Madison Taylor_.”

She then glanced at an accompanying photograph of Moon, copied and printed off his laboratory website. Pictured was a youthful, intelligent-looking man, with clear pale skin, sleek navy hair and blue eyes almost hidden behind thin spectacles.

“Does it all check out?” she asked uncertainly.

“At face value, yes,” Syaoran replied. “You can see photocopies of his records at Cambridge, and at Sanofi. Evangelline Ritch, one of the Retrieval scouts I sent down, sent over copies of the patents Lalune filed while they were starting up.”

Sakura turned a couple of pages, before finding the photocopied drug patent records and scanning them carefully.

“This drug is basically a synthetically streamlined and less potent variant of the active ingredient in aconite poison,” she said slowly, after examining the report several times over. “They just repurposed it to be used as an anaesthetic – and a heart rate depressant too, apparently.”

“Aconite, huh?” Syaoran stirred at the name. “Coincidence, or a very _literal_ calling card, do you think?”

“I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions yet,” Sakura answered, a troubled look crossing her face momentarily. “But it’s somewhat unlikely that a chemist with only five years of industrial experience could have perfected the design of this drug independently. And suspicious that the natural variant happens to be associated – and share names with – the Aconite mafia.”

“Supporting the notion of an existing link between Vell and the Aconite mafia, then,” Syaoran concluded. “At least. We know that the Aconites have a bunch of superpoisons in their arsenal, most of them modified from the plant itself. It wouldn’t require a giant leap of imagination to suggest that Vell may have acquired some drug development schematics from her colleagues in the underworld and worked off of those.”

“It’s a theory, but we can’t know for sure,” Sakura returned. “But for now I’d say this puts Vell in a position of somewhat more suspicion than before. I’m not a hundred percent convinced of this Moon character’s innocence either. We need to follow the information trail, find out where they’ve been tampered, maybe cross-reference with other major events occurring in the mafia and see if there’s any correlation? It’s a possibility that this Eli Moon is someone of notoriety that we’ve missed.”

“His fiancée is a fashion designer,” Syaoran mused. “She’s been getting more popular and has been in the public eye relatively frequently. Running a check on her could uncover some information on Moon as well.”

“We could even send someone in to make contact with her and find out from her what, if anything, there could be to know about Moon,” Sakura suggested. “Would your Retrieval agents be up to the task or would we need to send someone else in formally?”

“This should still be under the Retrieval portfolio,” Syaoran replied. “If we send in a field agent on a formal mission, we have to authorize it, appropriately justify it in a report, ensure technical support and put it on the database. None of which we can, or want, to do at this point with the information we have.”

“Right,” Sakura nodded. An uneasy look crossed her face, however.

 Syaoran didn’t fail to notice it.

“What?” he asked her softly.

She shrugged.

“Something about Moon’s fiancée’s name…” she started.

“Madison Taylor.”

“Yes.” Sakura struggled to put her thoughts into words. “Something about it just seems so familiar…but I can’t for the life of me remember where I’ve heard it before.”

Syaoran rested a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t sweat it too much,” he assured her. “You’ve been about everywhere in the world over the last few years, and before that you were involved in so many cases… If Madison Taylor is an important person for us to know of, you must have run into the name in _some_ scenario in your experience. And if she’s important, well, we’ll figure it out sooner or later.” 

Sakura smiled wanly.

“Times like these I realize how much we still have to figure out before we get to the bottom of this.”

“Makes you miss being a minion, doesn’t it?” Syaoran remarked with a smirk. “Just getting all your necessary details handed to you and working off of that. Oh, those were the good old days.”

“Yeah but cracking the situation is where all the fun is,” Sakura retorted with a bit of a pout. “Being an independent for the last few years made me realize that. All the paperwork in this Association is just taking all the fun out of that. This would be so much easier if I could just slip on a disguise and figure things out for myself.”

Syaoran lifted an eyebrow.

“You mean you don’t think your fellow agents are capable enough to do your research for you?”

Sakura shrugged.

“I’m sure they’re capable, I just have a hard time accepting other people’s assessments unless I know I can trust their judgment,” she replied. “After I left the Association I worked on my own for close to six years. I trust nothing but my own instincts." 

“Well, that’s not exactly how it works around here,” Syaoran reminded her gently. “You’re a Field Commander now. Your job is to evaluate, authorize and coordinate. You can’t be running on the field to scope out every volatile situation just because you have trust issues.”

“I know,” Sakura groaned. “But…sometimes it’s so hard to fight the urge. There are just so many incompetent people around these days.” 

“I used to think that when I first was promoted,” Syaoran admitted. “But after a while you learn that no one’s indispensible, everyone fucks up, and sad to say, none of it makes a difference. Makes you kind of cynical in the end.”

“Well I suppose I’ll fit right in, then,” Sakura quipped in response.

“I doubt it,” Syaoran answered, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of Sakura’s hair back behind her ear. 

“I’m sure you do.”

“You’re such a wildcard,” Syaoran commented, though there was an affectionate edge to his voice as he rested his arm about her shoulders. “And completely unpredictable. And you don’t give a fuck about the rules.” 

“I know,” she agreed dryly. “I’ve been out on my own too long. Who can only imagine what sort of shady underworld characters I’ve rubbed shoulders with in my time, and how much of them rubbed off on me?”

“Exactly. I’m sure you must have learned from the shadowiest of the shadowy, the unsavouriest of the unsavoury, the most nefarious of the nefarious underworld elite…” Syaoran trailed off, his mind suddenly racing ahead of him a mile a minute. 

Sakura blinked when Syaoran suddenly stopped talking and became very still.

“Earth to Syaoran,” she called, waving a hand in front of his face to grab his attention. “Is everything okay?”

“I just had a thought…” Syaoran mumbled to himself, before collecting himself and fixing his gaze on Sakura, as though seeing her for the first time. “This could be a bit of a stretch, but…during your lengthy stint in the underworld, did you ever hear about some guy called Le Taureau?”

There was a tentative pause. Then –

“Le Taureau?” Sakura repeated.

“Yeah. Erick Jensson from Retrieval mentioned him during the debrief, but didn’t have very much to say about it. Have you ever heard of him?”

“Of course.”

Syaoran stared at her, incredulous.

“ _Really?"_  

She shrugged.

“Tsukiyune was always paranoid about the Bull. I never _stopped_ hearing about him, actually.”

“Paranoid? How?”

Sakura frowned, trying to remember.

“The thing about the mafia is that everyone wants to kiss Hiirigawaza’s ass,” she explained at length. “Someone gets closer to his ass than you, your importance in the chain of command goes down, and so does your security and power. So when Tsukiyune got wind that the Bull was currying favour with Hiirigawaza –“

“So they know each other?”

“I have no idea whether they actually do or not,” Sakura replied. “All I know is that Tsukiyune and his toadies would work themselves into a fit whenever someone mentioned the Bull.”

“So Tsukiyune viewed him as a threat?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Sakura thought for a moment, chewing her lip. “You have to understand, Tsukiyune built an empire and he loved himself for it. He thought he deserved the world because of it, that he deserved to be Hiirigawaza’s go-to guy without question, and that was basically all he wanted. He was addicted to the high life, to power and risk – I’m sure you could tell from your brief encounter with him. Anyway, then came rumours about Le Taureau, the Bull. Some obscure nobody with no fortune, no connections and no name – but the reputation he had quickly spread throughout the underworld, to the point where people cringed at the mere _mention_ of the Bull’s name. That’s power you can’t buy, and that hit a sore spot for Tsukiyune. Even with all his wealth and effort and connections, he could never achieve such a reputation, and he was worried that over time, he would lose everything he had to the Bull.”

Syaoran whistled.

“Wow. What does this Bull guy do?”

Sakura shrugged again.

“I have no idea. Nobody knows. That’s part of why he’s so infamous. Nobody knows who he is, what he looks like, how old he is, nothing. Just that when he decides to stir the pot...mafia overlords have been ousted by him.”

“So he’s some stealthy super-overlord of the European mafia?” Syaoran was struggling to understand. 

“No,” Sakura shook her head. “That’s part of why Tsukiyune, and so many other powerhouses _hate_ him. He just decides to make one his target, makes a fool out of them, topples their reign, and instead of supplanting them, he just slinks back into the shadows and bides his time until he chooses his next target.”

There was a long pause.

“Why?” Syaoran asked.

“No one knows,” Sakura replied. “My personal guess is that he’s just an arrogant bastard who enjoys fucking with people every now and then when he gets bored. I don’t think he’s in it for name or power or Hiirigawaza’s blessing; I think outsmarting his target is all just a game to him.”

“A professional mafia hustler? We should hire him to do our job for us.”

Sakura rolled her eyes.

“Why should we hire him to do something that he’s already doing for free? Especially when sooner or later, he would probably turn around and try to do the same to us?”

“Touché,” Syaoran relented. “So…it would make no sense if the Bull was working in league with Vell and Laroche, if there’s anything going on there?”

“The Bull works with no one,” Sakura said with a set to her voice that brooked no room for argument. “No one he doesn’t plan to double cross and humiliate down the road once he’s done using them, anyway. 

“But if we’re trying to follow Tsukiyune’s money trail, and the Bull is somehow involved…”

“Tsukiyune would _never_ work with the Bull,” Sakura stated flatly. “It goes against everything he would ever have done. The only way I see the Bull coming into this would be if he decided that he somehow wanted to swindle Vell of all of Tsukiyune’s bequeathal.”

“So that he could divert it back to the Aconites?” Syaoran suggested. “Cement his place by Hiirigawaza’s side? Or maybe not. Topple Hiirigawaza and fry the biggest fish in the pond, leaving the rest of the mafia to crumble in on itself?”

“Your guess is as good as mine on this,” Sakura shrugged, clearly wanting to drop the subject. “But whether or not we have common interests now, it would just not be worth our while to seek out and recruit the Bull, if that’s what you’re thinking of pulling off. We could never trust him, because he only works for himself. He doesn’t do what he does for the same purposes that we do, he only does it because, in my opinion, he’s selfish and serves only his ego. We could never offer him anything that he couldn’t already get without our help, and even if we could, what he wants changes in a heartbeat. I would avoid him at all costs if I wanted a mission to go smoothly.”

“So even if in some odd chance he was working with Vell…it would be a reason for her to be worried because he would eventually double cross her?” Syaoran ventured, testing a new theory. “Which would mean less work for us, right?” 

“I don’t know the Bull personally so I can’t say for sure,” Sakura repeated, her brow furrowing. “All I know of him is through hearsay and a lot of it is just exaggeration and skewed by inaccurate personal biases. From what I do understand of him though, he is incredibly shrewd, dangerous, and never allows himself to be seen unless it’s part of a grand plan of his.”

“Sounds like a less attractive version of me,” Syaoran commented with a smirk.

“Believe me, he isn’t,” Sakura warned. “We got shown up by Tsukiyune in London and barely escaped by the skin of our teeth. Dancing with the Bull is a whole other playing field. He is completely unreachable, unpredictable, and without scruples. This is an individual we do _not_ want to engage.”

* * *

 


End file.
